Here’s a perfect example:
A few years back, I was walking through an airport in Perth, Western Australia,
and as I approached
the gate I heard a loud
thwack
in the background, which
sounded like someone had just hit the living hell out of a golf ball.
Sure enough, when I turned towards the sound, I saw a slender young Asian kid
with a golf club in his hand, in a perfect trophy pose—as if he’d just finished hitting
a three-hundred-yard drive straight down the middle. The kid was standing inside
some type of promotional
stand that had been roped off, and as I continued
towards my gate, I watched him tee up another golf ball on an indoor mat and take
a smooth, elegant swing. From where I was standing, it looked like he’d hit the ball
straight
through a window, although on closer inspection I saw that the ball was
stuck to the face of the club.
As
it turned out, some company had come up with a “revolutionary” golf
training system in which they put Velcro on the face of a golf club and on a
regulation-sized golf ball that was made of some
sort of sponge-like material, so
when you took a swing at the ball, it would stick to the face of the club; and, based
on where it stuck, you could tell whether you were going to hit a hook or a slice.
In any event, I watched
the kid take a few more swings, at which point I
moseyed on over to take a closer look, and to get an explanation as to how the thing
actually worked.
“It’s really simple,” he said confidently. “Watch, I’ll show you!” And with that,
he put the ball on a white plastic tee, and then he took his stance and proceeded to
take a beautiful cut at the golf ball, one that would have easily sent it three hundred
yards down the center of the fairway. However, when he showed me the head of the
club, sure enough, there was the ball, stuck to the face of the club, as if it had been
glued there.
“Look,” he said proudly. “I hit this right on the inside of the ball—right here—
so that would’ve
been a nice, solid draw, about two
hundred eighty yards in the
short grass!” Then he went on to explain how you could also see if you were hitting
the ball too close to the heel or toe, which would
help you get rid of the most
dreaded of all swing results: the
shanks.
So, I took a few moments to consider everything—realizing the obvious fact
that, what with golf being the hardest sport in the world to master, there was a very
slim chance that this little contraption could improve my golf swing even one iota.
Nonetheless, the sucker in me came shining through, and I asked, “How much does
it cost?”
https://www.8freebooks.net
“It’s only forty-nine dollars,” he replied. “And it comes right in the box. You can
carry it on the plane with you.”
“Fine, I’ll take it,” I muttered, and,
just like that,
I bought it right on the spot,
knowing full well that there was virtually no chance it was going to work.
But why?
Why would I make a decision that seemed to fly directly in the face of my own
self-interest? The answer lies with the inner mechanics of how human beings, as a
species, go about making their buying decisions.
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