So, Kroger is having a moment. On one hand, they’re taping up paper signs in Ohio because they can’t figure out how to handle the death of the penny. On the other, they’re touting a new union contract in California as a major victory for workers.
You’d think these were two separate stories. They’re not. They’re two sides of the same, slightly tarnished coin. It’s the story of a corporate giant so obsessed with the micro-details of its bottom line that it completely loses the plot on what it’s like to be a real person—either a customer fumbling for change or an employee just trying to make rent.
Let’s be real. This whole thing is a masterclass in corporate theater.
The Great Penny Panic of 2025
First, let's talk about the pennies. The U.S. Treasury finally did what we’ve been begging them to do for decades and killed the one-cent coin. It costs almost four cents to make a penny. It’s a useless piece of metal that does nothing but clutter up our cars and junk drawers. Good riddance.
But for Kroger, this is apparently a five-alarm crisis, as Columbus Kroger stores ask customers to pay exact change amid halt in penny production. You can just picture the regional manager, sweating over the wording in a conference room. "We can't demand it, Johnson! We have to kindly ask!" Give me a break. A spokesperson said they’re still "assessing the impact." Assessing what, exactly? The fact that you might have to round a $78.64 grocery bill up to $78.65?
This is a company that pulls in billions in revenue. They have sophisticated logistics, data analytics, and probably a small army of MBAs optimizing their supply chain. Yet, the absence of a one-cent coin has them completely flummoxed. It's like a battleship being taken down by a single leaky canoe. The Federal Reserve says the median household has $60 to $90 just sitting in coin jars. There are literally billions of pennies still out there. This ain't a shortage; it's a failure of imagination.
But here’s the real question nobody seems to be asking: Is this "shortage" just a convenient excuse? A gentle nudge to get the last cash-holdouts to finally switch to cards and apps? Every swipe, every tap, is a data point. They know what you buy, when you buy it, and what coupons will get you back in the store. Cash is anonymous. It's messy. It doesn’t feed the algorithm. So why not blame the dead penny for the push to a cashless future you wanted all along?
Meanwhile, Back at the Bargaining Table
Now, let's fly over to California, where the United Food and Commercial Workers union is celebrating the new California Kroger, Albertsons contracts include new pension plan, self-checkout rules for its 45,000 members. On paper, it sounds okay. Wage increases, a "supplemental" pension, and new rules for the dreaded self-checkout lanes.
But let's look closer. A top food clerk gets a raise from $26.75 to $30.45... by 2027. That’s a few bucks spread out over several years in one of the most expensive states in the country. This is a win for workers. No, 'win' doesn't cover it—this is a five-alarm dumpster fire of a negotiation disguised as progress. It’s just enough to keep people from walking off the job, but not enough to actually change their lives. It's the corporate equivalent of leaving a 10% tip on a massive bill.
And the pension? The company will contribute 25 cents per hour to a "supplemental" plan. Twenty-five cents. I spend more than that on a single gumball for my kid. This is being framed as a benefit, a gift from the benevolent employer, when it’s really just pocket change they found in the corporate couch cushions. What kind of retirement does that even buy? A weekend trip to Reno in 30 years?
Then we get to my favorite part: the self-checkout rules. These machines are the bane of my existence. They’re always broken, the scanner never works, and you always need an employee to come approve your purchase of... sparkling water. So the union fought for new rules. Now, one full-service lane must be open from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m., and signs will limit self-checkout to "about 15 items."
"About 15 items." What in the world does that even mean? Is 16 okay? How about 20? It’s a suggestion so vague it’s basically meaningless. It’s a rule designed to be broken, a toothless gesture so the union can say they "did something" about the automation that's slowly eating away at their members' jobs. Offcourse, the company agreed to it. It costs them nothing.
It’s all just so... exhausting. The constant spin, the carefully worded press releases, the celebration of microscopic gains while the fundamental problems just get worse. Then again, maybe I'm the crazy one. Maybe in 2025, getting a 25-cent pension contribution and a checkout lane that’s only mostly automated is the peak of what a worker can hope for.
It's All Just Noise
At the end of the day, whether it’s a paper sign about pennies in Ohio or a press release about a union contract in California, it’s all the same story. It's a story about a system that has become incredibly good at optimizing for pennies while remaining completely tone-deaf to people. They’ll spend millions on logistics to save a fraction of a cent per transaction, but they can't—or won't—invest in the kind of wages and systems that would make life fundamentally better for the employees and customers who are the entire reason they exist. The penny might be dead, but penny-pinching, in every sense of the word, is alive and well.
