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Scantily clad supermodels flash seductive stares and tabloids prophesy the next apocalypse as we are funneled through a modified version of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. The magazine resting next to the super-sized peanut butter cups promises we can shed ten pounds in the next fifteen minutes. Have we entered the seventh heaven of hedonism? Or are we merely among the 90 percent of American adults who each month pass through the gauntlet of temptation known more commonly as the grocery store checkout line?'

The setup is virtually the same in every grocery store. Multiple rows of magazines guard the gates of the aisle: People, US Weekly, Time, and the like. The majority are geared toward women, who compose over 70 percent of the primary foot traffic. The other side, if it does not also display magazines, often features a kiosk of individually wrapped snack foods and drinks to satisfy the urges worked up by this latest shopping expedition.

As we enter this hedonistic gauntlet, on the one side we find a narrow column of impulse items (razors, batteries, lip balm, toothbrushes, aspirin, pens, etc.), which hope to grab our attention in the approximately seven minutes we are likely to wait in line. This is frequently the home of smaller seasonal items, such as Christmas bows and cheap toys, conveniently positioned within arm's reach for your toddler in the shopping cart. Farther in, a brightly colored assortment of breath mints, candy, and snack foods begs to be sampled. On the other side rest such scholarly works as National Enquirer and The Weekly World News along with literary tomes by authors like Mary Higgins Clark, Nora Roberts, and Dean Koontz. Bellied up to these are columns of "micro mags" with the latest findings on alternative health remedies, recipe ideas, and astrological pontifications, along with the all-important TV Guide and Soap Opera Digest. Increasingly, we can also find the makings for a one-stop date as new-release videos and DVDs are offered in package deals with popcorn.

In the checkout line we find a cornucopia of media and impulse items, but it is not simply a hodge-podge of consumer goods. The checkout line conveys a message, a message of what it means to live the "good life."

Shopping today goes far beyond the purchase of life's necessities. In a study of consumers, John O'Shaughnessy probes behind the process of buying and selling: "Buying is a purposive activity, motivated and directed by the belief that the consequences of buying make life that much happier." He concludes that consumer buying "tracks certain goals that reflect a vision of the good life."

Businesses are more than happy to market their products as the road to El Dorado. The Holy Grail of the good life is reduced to a cost-efficient, high margin of return. Market research has analyzed our desire for the good life, then commodified, packaged, and mass-produced it. We are induced to believe that these products will provide us the good life, so that we will run right out to buy them.

There is, however, one more important step. Who decides what the "good life" means? What are its goals? Peter Berger's socialization theory offers some assistance: We influence society and society influences us. Unless one lives in an isolated bunker somewhere, the media has the upper hand, if only by the sheer bombardment and saturation with messages. In the case of the individual versus corporations, usually the latter win. So we begin with a look at what the checkout line projects as the good life to its unsuspecting passers-by. Our discussion mimics the manner in which we encounter the checkout line itself. Starting with the experience of the cultural text, the grocery store checkout line, we become more critically aware of how the text promotes particular messages, versions of the good life. We can then begin to question what truly constitutes the "good life" from a Christian perspective. Finally, we initiate a preliminary response, a guide for being Christian cultural agents.

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October (Web-only) 2007, Vol. 51