Uncle Hasan the Elder – Part 7: “Uncle Hasan’s Supermarket Masterclass”

I used to think I was pretty smart with money—until I went shopping with Uncle Hasan.

It all started one ordinary afternoon. I came home carrying a couple of grocery bags, proud of myself for getting everything on the list. But the moment Uncle Hasan saw them, he let out a long, world-weary sigh, the kind only seasoned veterans of household economics can produce.

He looked at me like I’d just committed a crime. “Come here, son. Let’s talk about all the ways you’ve just wasted your money.” I had just walked into a full-on shopping intervention.

“First rule,” he said, raising one authoritative finger in the air like a judge about to deliver a verdict, “never go shopping when you’re hungry. Your stomach will do the talking, and your brain will shut down. Next thing you know, you’re coming home with three types of cheese, four frozen pizzas, and that overpriced almond milk you’ve never even tried before.”

He glanced at the bag. “And what's this? A bag of pistachios? Imported? From where, the moon?” Fair point.

“Second,” he continued, “you do real shopping alone. No wife, no kids, no so-called shopping partners. You take them with you, the cart becomes a playground of impulse buys. Candy, cereal with cartoons, and snacks nobody eats after Tuesday. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

I tried to chuckle, but the lecture had only just begun.

“Rule number three,” he said, holding up a bottle of shampoo I had bought, “Don’t just look at the price tag. Always check the price per unit. This little thing here looks cheap, right? But per ounce? You just paid like you were buying fine wine. The big one, even though it costs more upfront, gives you more value in the long run. You're not rich enough to afford cheap stuff.”

Then he gave me one of his legendary lines: “You’re not just paying for shampoo, you’re paying for illusion. That little bottle is convenience wearing a tuxedo.”

But my favorite lesson came from a story involving Auntie. One day, they were at a store shopping together. She spotted an expensive facial mask, something ridiculous like a ‘Golden Caviar Hydrating Sheet.’ Price tag? $50. For one. Single. Use.

Just as she was about to toss it into the cart, Uncle Hasan vanished.

Moments later, he returned with a single bar of chocolate. Fancy one, wrapped like a gift from royalty. He handed it to her with the sweetest smile and said, “I remembered you like chocolate. Saw this and thought it might brighten your day.”

Naturally, she was thrilled. “Oh, thank you! But what about the mask I wanted?”

“Oh, that?” he replied smoothly. “They were sold out. Gone. I even asked the guy.”

Later, in the car, I asked him if that was true.

He grinned. “Of course not. I saw a whole stack of them. But listen, that chocolate cost me three bucks. The mask was fifty. Now she’s happy, thinks I’m thoughtful, and we saved money. Plus, because I ‘did the shopping,’ she’s cooking dinner. That, my boy, is a triple win.”

He paused and added his final pearl of wisdom:

“Always keep a small gift in your back pocket. It’s cheaper than a big argument.”

Since then, every time I step into a store, I hear Uncle Hasan’s voice in my head, like a budgeting Yoda whispering from the cereal aisle.

• Don’t shop when hungry.
• Use the small basket.
• Compare price per kilo.
• Distract with chocolate.
• Never bring the whole family.
• And always have an exit strategy.

To this day, I don’t think of shopping as a chore. Not anymore. With Uncle Hasan’s rules, it’s a mental sport, a chess match between logic, emotion, and marketing tactics.

And somehow, Uncle Hasan always, always wins.