Vouch Potatoes

The Skinny delves into the world of the money-off voucher, and finds anger, joy, and the death of romance.

Feature by Peter Simpson | 01 Nov 2011

Here's a scenario. You're out for dinner on a first date with a reasonable young man. He seems nice, the conversation is a bit stilted but he seems OK. As the bill arrives, our reasonable young man whips out a dazzling array of vouchers, discount books, and money-off cards. Now, the question; when running away from this unromantic skinflint, how fast is too fast?

Yes, if you end up in the same situation as our source (who shall remain nameless) it can be a little awkward. We all know there's a recession on. Times are tough, and we would be tightening our belts had we not burned them all to save on the gas bill, but we don't need to be reminded of it at the dinner table by a man we respected mere moments earlier.

Food and drink has always been the home of the money-off deal, a strange world where the same item has dozens of simultaneously-occurring prices like a tastier, less radioactive Schrödinger's Cat. But the spread of the 'daily deal' website has seen these offers take on a life of their own, affirming the widely-held theory that multiplying any commodity by 'the internet' always results in loads of choice, great value, and people losing their tiny, shiny minds.

Case in point: upstart voucher website itison.com had launched successfully in Glasgow and Edinburgh, offering the usual range of meals, drinks and other experiences that sound great until you work out you'll actually have to go through with them and have no way of getting to Loch Lomond. For their big splash in Dundee, itison paired with corporate pizzaiolas Domino's to offer a voucher good for one large pizza for just two quid. The City of Discovery went wild, bought 5000 pizzas in an afternoon, and tried to redeem all their vouchers that evening. Needless to say there were not 5000 pizzas lying around and things went a little bit wrong.

Once the staff had uncurled from the foetal position and pointed out that the vouchers were valid for another eight weeks the rage receded, but the episode points out the two main problems with deals of this type. If a 'great deal' really is a great deal then every mug with an email address is going to snap one up, leaving you locked in your frenzied speed-booking mode usually reserved for reserving a dental appointment or for the five minutes that T in the Park are on sale. If you do grab the deal before it sells out, there's the tiny matter of jostling with hundreds of other people to try and use the damn thing before it expires.

Of course, these are all whinges that detract from the fact that getting things for less than normal is great. After all, sites like Groupon, vouchercloud and itison wouldn't exist if us capitalist pig-dogs didn't love a good bargain. Afternoon tea has, thanks to these deals, become an entirely affordable pursuit. Seriously, check your emails, at least one of them will be on behalf of a posh hotel offering you cakes and a cuppa for a suspiciously low price.

And while the dating game may now be fraught with questions as to just why that girl wants to go out on Tuesday and only Tuesday, it's a great time for the single who have no need for false pretences, or those in relationships who know full well that their partners are penny-pinching nihilists. This author, for example, refuses to eat in a number of high-street restaurants unless there is some kind of deal on. This author knows that a sushi roll isn't worth a fiver, and now he doesn't need to pay a fiver. Now if you'll excuse me, we have an Indian head massage, a two-hour beer tasting session and a five-course Chinese buffet to get to. We just need a discount code for some new belts and we'll be sorted.