For the Love of Ooshies

When I was a kid, shopping at the local Woolworths meant getting to choose one chocolate bar or a small pack of lollies from the confectionery aisle as a treat.

My brother and I went through a phase of choosing Butter-menthol throat lozenges.

“You owe me a Butter-menthol!” was a familiar catch cry in our house.

We’d force the other to cough up one of these hardboiled lollies for such offenses (real or imagined) as accidentally punching the other on the nose, losing a beloved kitten or breaking the tip off a skateboard.

Lollies were a highly sought after commodity and our currency of choice.

Now, with two kids of my own, I’ve come to admire Woolworth’s ongoing healthy eating campaign where baskets—strategically placed at ankle biter height—offer up free apples and bananas to children roaming the store.

They never had that campaign in my day, but kids have been eating ‘free’ fruit in the aisles for as long as I can remember. And ‘free’ biscuits as well, as evidenced by half open packets of Arnott’s Scotch Finger biscuits on low lying shelves.

When I first heard about the Disney, Pixar, Marvel and StarWars Ooshie promotion at Woolworths, I shrugged it off. Meh. What was the big deal about these plastic pencil toppers anyway?

I’d lived through the hype of previous campaigns: Disney Scrabble Tiles, Grow your own Garden, Animal cards and Lion King Ooshies without going mental.

Even when Coles launched their Little Shop collectibles with their adorable miniature plastic grocery items, I couldn’t be persuaded to switch supermarkets.

I laughed at articles about desperate parents doing trades in car parks to get an elusive mini Harpic Toilet cleaner or miniature jar of Vegemite.

Out of the 36 ooshies to collect, the only one I wanted was a particular Star Wars ooshie.

I wasn’t going to be one of those suckers who had to collect all 36 ooshies.

Earlier in the year, I’d shown several episodes of the Mandalorian during free periods on the last days of the school term. So, I put it to my senior students that if any of them had a Mandalorian ooshie, I’d gladly take it off their hands. Just one—one ooshie and I’d be satisfied.

Of course I’d try to find a Mandalorian ooshie myself, so I’d accepted free ooshie packets for every $30 I’d spent in a Woolies store. Each time walking away with handfuls that I thought I’d save for my three-year-old nephew. My own children having outgrown all kiddie paraphernalia.

‘Twas a sad day indeed when a Happy Meal from Macca’s no longer made them happy.

I noticed a pattern emerge from my family’s weekly shopping expeditions. With the car boot loaded with groceries, and everyone strapped in their car seats, I’d toss the sealed ooshie packets onto the laps of my husband, son and daughter.

I’d giggle deliriously like a school girl watching a kissing scene on a movie screen.

For ten seconds, nothing but the sound of ripping ooshie packets fills the interior of our car. My sophisticated family indulge me with exaggerated “oohs and aahs”.

I’d hold my breath. C’mon Mando, C’mon Mando, I’d silently plead before tearing open a packet.

I’d draw an ooshie from its bag—Mandalorian or not—and be instantly bombarded by a flush of dopamine. I’m transported to a simpler time, of being a child again.

An adult-child that’s fallen for the age old marketing ploy of the ‘blind’ bag factor; of not knowing what I’d get until I’d open the packet. Maybe the next packet would hold the illusive Mandalorian, or the next, or the next one after that.

Even after a Mandalorian ooshie mysteriously appeared on my desk in the High school staff room, I kept up the tradition of busting open ooshie packets with my family in the car.

These were no ordinary ooshies.

Some of these pocket sized darlings could help you be brave in the blackness of night. My nephew fell asleep while clutching a ‘glow in the dark’ ooshie in the palm of his hand. Awww.

Some were designed to change colour when you took them along for a swim, or stuck them in the freezer, or dunked them in your hot chocolate. Some glittered and sparkled and every one of them made from recyclable plastic.

And an ultra rare one, like the Baby Yoda, of which only 100 were put into public circulation could fetch a pretty penny on Ebay.

So, I simply had to have them—all of them. *Cue maniacal laughter* Mwahahaha.

Then I received another Mandolorian ooshie, but this time from a boy in the fifth grade. His older brother in year 11 must have tipped him off.

I had made a new friend, and every so often he’d send via a primary school teacher a different Ooshie to me. So I’d return the favour by giving him some of mine. So this was one of those serendipitous things that came from my wanting to complete an ooshie collection—friendship.

The teachers that work with our primary kids are very clever. They virtually eliminated all quarrels resulting from ooshie swaps by nominating one staff member to control all trades and exchanges.

Ms Marley (not her real name) had a Tupperware container full of Ooshies and if a child wanted to make a swap, the student had to go through her.

No fights. No dramas. Brilliant.

Having got wind of this scheme, I took my excess ooshies—one time I had 5 Elsas— and exchanged them through Ms Marley every Wednesday morning. Which saved me from doing deals with other adults in car parks or telling the world on Facebook of the ooshies I still needed.

After one shopping trip, the cashier didn’t give me the ooshie packets I was owed. Why? The store had run out. And it was only the third week of the promotion. They weren’t expecting another delivery for days.

So, I went to a different Woolworths store a few suburbs away which was stocked and hoped that they would honour my shopping docket.

They didn’t.

I was miffed and disappointed, but I had to put my big girl pants on. I backed away from the service counter without picking a fight. I didn’t want to be the next Karen.

Then I realized that I might have been growing more than a little obsessed with these colourful bits of plastic.

The ooshie promotion did come to an abrupt end about a month early owing to unforeseen demand, sparking ooshie rage nationwide.

By that stage I only had eight more to collect, so I was resigned to the fact that I would not gain that satisfying feeling of completing the entire set. Ah, well.

I had to put things in perspective. There were bigger things in life to be concerned about. I thought about dear friends and family fighting cancer, struggling with unemployment, or marital problems, and those dealing with mental health issues.

P.S. I did manage to complete the set thanks to Ms Marley who asked for a list of the ooshies I needed and gave me what I needed.

Even in these seemingly trivial experiences, God has taught me lessons about my own heart and its persuasions.

Don’t judge others that fall for well-researched marketing strategies because you might become a sucker too. I can be swayed by nostalgia. I like dopamine hits. I can attach significance to little bits of molded plastic. Collecting can be fun. Unexpected friendships from swapping and collecting warmed my heart.

And oh yeah, a woman’s life does not consist in the abundance of ooshies in her possession. (Nightingale Inspired Version NIV)

Here’s the real version KJV.

And he (Jesus) said unto them, take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.  Luke 12:15