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Hermann keeps his coupons in a small blue box originally intended for index cards. When Newt found it—a mere week after they decided to cohabitate—he laughed for ten minutes, then pulled a silver Sharpie from his back pocket and scrawled “HERMANN GOTTLIEB COUPON KING” across the front. No amount of scrubbing had managed to completely erase his handwriting.
Before they go shopping—any type of shopping: grocery, drugstore, pet store (for Newt’s heinous reptiles)—Hermann needs at least a fifteen-minute warning so that he has plenty of time to sort through his coupons before they leave. This usually works out quite well. Newt hovers over Hermann at the kitchen table, alternately teasing him and checking the cupboards for food, while Hermann sorts through his carefully indexed coupon collection. By the time Newt is about to open a probably-spoiled snack on the back shelf, Hermann is standing up and announcing that he’s ready to leave. Newt grabs the reusable bags, Hermann folds an envelope of coupons into his pocket, and they’re out the door and at the T stop just as the train arrives.
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Navigating the grocery store with Hermann is truly a lesson in patience. Coupons must be checked; sizes and brands and prices must be compared. Thankfully, Newt is easily occupied. When he’s not pointing out strange foods on the bottom shelf, he’s watching Youtube videos on his phone, or straightening displays of knocked-over boxes—many of which he knocked over himself.
“This is on sale,” he says, grabbing a box of snack cakes and dropping it into the shopping cart.
Hermann raises an eyebrow. "Just because it's on sale doesn’t mean we need it." He reaches for the package, but Newt grabs it first.
"I'll pay for it."
"We have a joint bank account."
"I have other funds!"
Hermann rolls his eyes, but allows Newt to toss the box back into the cart.
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They move slowly from aisle to aisle. Now and then, Hermann will stand in front of a display for too long, causing an impatient shopper to push past with a frown. Hermann ignores them, but Newt stares them down until they hurry away.
“Don’t scare the shoppers, Newton,” Hermann murmurs. He places a jar of spaghetti sauce in the cart, confident now in his decision to buy the store brand for 50 cents cheaper.
“Hey, I think we need ice cream,” Newt says.
“No we don’t.”
“Yeah we do. It’s summer, so getting nice cold ice cream is really in our best interests, for health reasons.”
Hermann shakes his head. He allows Newt to steer the cart for a moment while he sifts through his envelope.
“Luckily for you, I have a coupon. But your choice is restricted to this particular brand.”
Newt grins and plucks the coupon from Hermann’s fingers. “No prob,” he says. “Be right back.” He runs off towards the freezer section.
Hermann scans the baking aisle while Newt is gone. They need flour, but which bag of flour would make the most sense to purchase? The five-pound bag is regularly $5.00, on sale today for 15% off, but he has a coupon for two dollars off the regularly-$9.00 ten-pound bag. He’d be spending $2.75 more if he got the ten-pound bag, but the cost per pound would be $0.70, as opposed to $0.85/lb for the five-pound bag. He decides to choose the ten-pound bag. It’s not as if flour spoils, anyway.
“I’m back.” Newt returns with a carton of ice cream, and Hermann sits it in the cart next to the refrigerated items. “I don’t think I’ve ever had pistachio, but it’s green, so I’m trying it.” Newt looks at Hermann. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Get that bag of flour for me, would you? No, not that one—yes.”
Newt puts the bag in the cart, and they turn the corner into the next aisle.
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The bread aisle is a series of small successes, and Hermann feels a familiar swell of pride. He leads them past home goods and pet supplies, then tentatively enters the snack aisle. He can only hope that Newt is too distracted by his phone to notice.
“You didn’t finish off the brie, did you?” Hermann asks.
“Nah.”
“I’ve never seen these crackers on sale for such a low price. And I have a coupon—buy one, get one free, and it doesn’t even restrict to non-sale items.”
“‘Kay.”
Hermann frowns. “Newton, I’ll essentially be getting these crackers for $1.50 each. They’re normally $5.00.”
Newt looks up with a grin. “Nerd,” he says. He turns back to his phone. Hermann sighs.
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They make it out of the snack aisle without Newt requesting anything unsavory, and for that, Hermann is relieved. He steers them towards the checkout, and considers the shopping trip a success.
“You know,” Newt says, as Hermann pulls his envelope from his pocket. “We have the money to pay full price for this stuff. There’s no reason why you need to hoard coupons like you’re on a reality show.”
Hermann sighs. “I almost pity you. You’ll never feel the joy of knowing you got the best deal possible because you’re willing to do a bit more maths than the average shopper.”
Newt snorts.
They’re standing in line behind a couple with four children. They’re almost there—so close to being done—but then Newt gives a sharp cry, runs to a nearby display, and comes back with an armful of boxes.
“We’re getting these,” he says. He piles seven boxes of kaiju-shaped gummy snacks into the cart.
Hermann groans. “Newton, those are pure sugar, they’ll rot your teeth out.”
"That's why I brush my teeth, dude." Newt looks down at the boxes and smiles. “The Otachi one is so cute.”
“Newton.”
“They come in fun fruit flavors.”
“Newton.”
“I wonder if the blue ones make your tongue numb.”
“Newton! Would you please put those back? They’re overpriced, they have no nutritional value, and you’re thirty-seven years old, for god’s sake.”
Newt looks down at the pile of boxes. He’s clearly waffling over whether or not to listen, but then he sees something that makes his lips curl into a mischievous smile. He picks up the gummies.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll put them away. It’s really a pity, though. This box comes with jaegers. We could have had awesome battles.”
He’s about to turn away when Hermann stops him.
“Wait—there are jaegers?”
Newt hands him the box. The packaging advertises kaiju and jaeger gummies in ten different shapes. Hermann touches a picture of a green apple Cherno Alpha and smiles.
“We’re up,” Newt says. The cashier is motioning them forward. Hermann places the box of gummies firmly on the conveyer belt.
“Just one,” he says.
Newt grins and returns the others to the display.
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