Why Are Coupons Worth 1/100th of a Cent?

iStock / WendellandCarolyn
iStock / WendellandCarolyn

The next time a coupon shows up in your mail, take a look at the fine print. There’s a pretty good chance it will read something to the effect of “Cash Value 1/100th of a cent.” Why in the world is that writing on there? And are 10,000 copies of this coupon really worth a whole dollar? Let’s take a look at this coupon quirk.

Putting a Stamp on Customer Loyalty

Before we can answer the coupon-value question, we need to take a peek into a seemingly unrelated footnote in the history of commerce. Let’s talk about the mostly forgotten practice of businesses handing out trading stamps with purchases.

Trading stamps first found their way into merchants’ registers in the 1890s. When customers made a purchase, stores would given them stamps that reflected how much they had spent; a common exchange rate was one stamp for every dime spent on merchandise. Once a customer had saved up enough stamps – often over a thousand – they could swap them for something from the stamp company’s catalog, like a toaster or a clock.

The trading stamps were a runaway success. Supermarkets, gas stations, and department stores would advertise that they gave away a certain brand of stamps to help lure customers in, and the customers could then lick and paste their saved stamps to get “free” merchandise. Everyone was happy, and the system flourished. At one point in the 1960s, S&H Green Stamps printed more stamps each year than the Postal Service did. The circulation of the company’s catalog topped 30 million. The big stamp makers like S&H even built brick-and-mortar “redemption center” stores around the country.

As any economist worth his cost function can tell you, though, the toasters and vacuum cleaners that customers got weren’t free at all. Merchants had to pay for the stamps they gave away, and the cost of the stamp obviously got passed along to the customer in the form of higher prices.

Even in the early days, it didn’t take long for customers to figure out that the system wasn’t quite as rosy as merchants made it out to be. By 1904 New York had enacted laws that forced stamp makers to put a cash face value on each stamp that would enable consumers to bypass catalog redemptions and get money back for their stamps. Other states followed suit.

As one might guess, the individual stamps didn’t get princely face values. A 1904 New York Times piece noted that most stamp makers were given the value of “one mill,” or 1/10th of a cent. That valuation meant that a customer with a full book of 1,000 stamps could redeem it for a dollar. The same piece noted, though, that a customer who used the stamp makers’ catalogs could probably get an item worth three or four dollars for the same number of stamps, so the cash-redemption idea never really took off with most shoppers.

What happened to trading stamps? Their popularity peaked in the 1960s when nearly 80 percent of American households saved stamps, but within a decade the craze had died. Manufacturer coupons that shaved money off of items’ prices became more popular as inducements to get shoppers into stores, and the fuel crisis of the early 1970s sapped away the stamps’ large market at gas stations.

So What Does All This Have to Do With Coupons?

At first glance, coupons and trade stamps wouldn’t seem to have all that much in common. After all, coupons lower the price of an item, while the beef with trade stamps was that they passed a hidden (and often unwanted) cost along to consumers. But some states legally lump trade stamps and coupons in together, so coupons distributed in these states have to bear some printed cash redemption value.

According to the Association of Coupon Professions, only three states require this declaration of redemption value: Indiana, Utah, and Washington. Since many coupons are designed for national distribution, though, the redemption value ends up printed on all of them. As with the old trade stamps, it doesn’t really matter how infinitesimal the stated value is as long as it’s not zero. Thus, you see coupons that are worth 1/10th, 1/20th, or 1/100th of a cent.

So Can I Round Up 20 Coupons and Get a Penny?

In theory, yes. It’s hard to find reliable, concrete examples of someone schlepping in a hundred coupons to swap them out for a penny, but the web is full of anecdotes in which people “test the fine print” by trading in a giant stack of coupons for their face value at the supermarket. In all likelihood, though, you’d need to mail the coupons to the issuing company, which is a pretty lousy financial proposition given the price of stamps.

If you’re sitting on a big pile of Shake N Bake coupons, you might as well give it a try; your supermarket will probably gladly surrender a penny to ensure you don’t make a scene.

Is There An International Standard Governing Scientific Naming Conventions?

iStock/Grafissimo
iStock/Grafissimo

Jelle Zijlstra:

There are lots of different systems of scientific names with different conventions or rules governing them: chemicals, genes, stars, archeological cultures, and so on. But the one I'm familiar with is the naming system for animals.

The modern naming system for animals derives from the works of the 18th-century Swedish naturalist Carl von Linné (Latinized to Carolus Linnaeus). Linnaeus introduced the system of binominal nomenclature, where animals have names composed of two parts, like Homo sapiens. Linnaeus wrote in Latin and most his names were of Latin origin, although a few were derived from Greek, like Rhinoceros for rhinos, or from other languages, like Sus babyrussa for the babirusa (from Malay).

Other people also started using Linnaeus's system, and a system of rules was developed and eventually codified into what is now called the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature (ICZN). In this case, therefore, there is indeed an international standard governing naming conventions. However, it does not put very strict requirements on the derivation of names: they are merely required to be in the Latin alphabet.

In practice a lot of well-known scientific names are derived from Greek. This is especially true for genus names: Tyrannosaurus, Macropus (kangaroos), Drosophila (fruit flies), Caenorhabditis (nematode worms), Peromyscus (deermice), and so on. Species names are more likely to be derived from Latin (e.g., T. rex, C. elegans, P. maniculatus, but Drosophila melanogaster is Greek again).

One interesting pattern I've noticed in mammals is that even when Linnaeus named the first genus in a group by a Latin name, usually most later names for related genera use Greek roots instead. For example, Linnaeus gave the name Mus to mice, and that is still the genus name for the house mouse, but most related genera use compounds of the Greek-derived root -mys (from μῦς), which also means "mouse." Similarly, bats for Linnaeus were Vespertilio, but there are many more compounds of the Greek root -nycteris (νυκτερίς); pigs are Sus, but compounds usually use Greek -choerus (χοῖρος) or -hys/-hyus (ὗς); weasels are Mustela but compounds usually use -gale or -galea (γαλέη); horses are Equus but compounds use -hippus (ἵππος).

This post originally appeared on Quora. Click here to view.

Can Soap Get Dirty?

iStock/vintagerobot
iStock/vintagerobot

When you see lovely little bars of lemon-thyme or lavender hand soaps on the rim of a sink, you know they are there to make you feel as fresh as a gardenia-scented daisy. We all know washing our hands is important, but, like washcloths and towels, can the bars of hand soap we use to clean ourselves become dirty as well?

Soaps are simply mixtures of sodium or potassium salts derived from fatty acids and alkali solutions during a process called saponification. Each soap molecule is made of a long, non-polar, hydrophobic (repelled by water) hydrocarbon chain (the "tail") capped by a polar, hydrophilic (water-soluble) "salt" head. Because soap molecules have both polar and non-polar properties, they're great emulsifiers, which means they can disperse one liquid into another.

When you wash your dirty hands with soap and water, the tails of the soap molecules are repelled by water and attracted to oils, which attract dirt. The tails cluster together and form structures called micelles, trapping the dirt and oils. The micelles are negatively charged and soluble in water, so they repel each other and remain dispersed in water—and can easily be washed away.

So, yes, soap does indeed get dirty. That's sort of how it gets your hands clean: by latching onto grease, dirt and oil more strongly than your skin does. Of course, when you're using soap, you're washing all those loose, dirt-trapping, dirty soap molecules away, but a bar of soap sitting on the bathroom counter or liquid soap in a bottle can also be contaminated with microorganisms.

This doesn't seem to be much of a problem, though. In the few studies that have been done on the matter, test subjects were given bars of soap laden with E. coli and other bacteria and instructed to wash up. None of the studies found any evidence of bacteria transfer from the soap to the subjects' hands. (It should be noted that two of these studies were conducted by Procter & Gamble and the Dial Corp., though no contradictory evidence has been found.)

Dirty soap can't clean itself, though. A contaminated bar of soap gets cleaned via the same mechanical action that helps clean you up when you wash your hands: good ol' fashioned scrubbing. The friction from rubbing your hands against the soap, as well as the flushing action of running water, removes any harmful microorganisms from both your hands and the soap and sends them down the drain.

This story was updated in 2019.

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