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  • Camruinn Morgan-Rumsey

The Food City ValueCard Mystery — Part One

I just recently I managed to nab myself quite the hot commodity. The most prestigious of plastics. The Cadillac of grocery reward cards, you might say; I managed to get a Food City ValueCard. But it came at a price. Not a monetary one, no. Rather, my Food City ValueCard came, free with no extra charge, my own personal albatross. It hangs heavy on my neck, ever urging me to liberate myself from its incessant weight.

“What price did you pay for your Food City ValueCard” I hear each and every one of you say. I paid the price of responsibility. You see, upon my acquisition of my ValueCard, I discovered a line of corruption that goes all the way to the top of the Food City Empire.


First though, let’s start from the beginning. For those of you who don’t know, I am lucky enough to live minutes away from a Food City (please do not use this information to compromise my OPSEC; I have two very tall roommates who will defend my person). This means I often shop at said Food City. For this reason, just a few months ago I found myself needing the prestigious Food City ValueCard.

No problem, right? I'll head on over and ask for one at checkout. Right? Wrong. You see, when I tried this plan of attack, I was given some bad news.

“We don’t have any,” said the kind girl checking me out. A shame, but no problem. I would get one next time I was in a Food City.

Flash forward a few weeks, and I’m getting a few things not at my usual Food City, but one across town.

“Can I get a card?”

“We don’t have any.”

Hm. How very strange. Still, not a huge problem. There must be a shortage. I’ll grab one NEXT time I go shopping.

Flash forward yet again to just a few days ago. My roommate and I make our way to a third Food City. It is very late. We desperately need a sweet treat. We land on cookie dough. It’s an excellent choice. We make our way to check out.

“Can we grab a Food City card?”

“Sorry, we’re all out.”

I couldn’t handle myself. My razor-sharp journalistic instincts kicked in; something fishy was happening here. I confront the cashier, an older woman.

“Are you really out, or is it just hard to do?” I ask, thinking that $8 an hour is too little to motivate this poor woman to scan in a card for us.

To my surprise, she sighs and wordlessly makes her way to some back office, returning with what is now my treasured Food City ValueCard. She tells me that some unnamed “They” instruct her to tell customers that she’s fresh out of cards every time anyone asks.

Why? She gives no reason.

As an investigative journalist and, more importantly, a content creator for such a high-profile website, I feel it is my responsibility to get to the bottom of this mystery. What is Food City hiding from the public, aside from ValueCards? Why do Food City higher-ups demand employees lie to customers? Will I one day be able to sell my card for millions on eBay?

These are the questions I will be answering in upcoming posts. Stay tuned for updates.

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