I seem to have a strange superstition:
“Why do food places and drinks I never buy have such a suspicious tendency to disappear?”
Obviously, I do not possess the power to bankrupt businesses by keeping my wallet closed. If I could destroy a regional economy merely by walking past a shop, I would no longer be a consumer. I would be a financial weapon.
The prophecy is not universal, either. It fails spectacularly with cosmetics, clothes, gadgets, household goods, and other products. I can look at something and think, “Who on earth buys this?” only to see it selling happily years later.
Food is different.
“Interesting once, but would I buy it again?”
“It looks good, but isn’t there a better alternative at this price?”
“There is something stronger nearby.”
“After the novelty wears off, who keeps paying for this?”
Then, months later: closure, withdrawal, downsizing.
The Food-Service Death Note. I never wrote the business’s name. I simply did not enter.
1. Why I Miss on Cosmetics and Products but Somehow Hit on Food
The reason is probably not that my personal taste perfectly represents the market.
Food simply has more shared decision variables.
Cosmetics and physical goods can survive on brand identity, color, design, trends, fandom, collecting, gifting, self-expression, and niche preferences. Something meaningless to me can be exactly what another customer wants.
Everyday food is more brutally comparable:
- Does it taste good?
- How much is it?
- Is the portion worth it?
- Is the location convenient?
- Is there a wait?
- What alternatives are nearby?
- Most importantly: would I pay for it again?
That last question matters.
A food business is rarely sustained by the total number of people who tried it once. It usually needs enough people who return.
So a person who habitually evaluates not only price, but also substitutes, effort, usable quantity, satisfaction, convenience, waste, and repeat value may accidentally be estimating repeat demand.
In other words, it is not:
“Businesses disappear because I don’t buy.”
It is closer to:
“When I think I would not keep paying for something, a lot of other customers may be reaching the same conclusion.”
Still sounds slightly like a grim reaper.
2. “Tasty” Is Not Enough to Keep Food Businesses Alive
The frightening thing about food service is that a product can be genuinely good and still disappear.
“Wow, that was tasty” is only the tutorial level.
The next question is:
“Great. Will you pay for it again next week? And next month?”
Novelty, social media, tourism, an opening campaign, or curiosity can generate trial. But businesses with equipment, restocking, ingredients, maintenance, labor, waste, rent, or location fees cannot live forever on first-time customers.
The specific reason for any closure varies, and outsiders should not pretend to know a company’s internal economics without evidence.
But as a general business principle, there is a huge gap between:
“I like this.”
and
“This produces enough recurring revenue to survive.”
Customer:
“That was actually really good!”
Business:
“Thank you! See you again?”
Customer:
“…………”
That silence is the scary part.
3. IJOOZ: “Accelerate Expansion” in May, Regional Exit in August
The latest trigger for this running joke was IJOOZ, the fresh-squeezed orange-juice vending machine brand.
The verified timeline is striking.
IJOOZ originated in Singapore and entered Japan in April 2023. In an official press release dated May 22, 2026, the company said that more than 1,500 machines had been installed in Japan and announced a new installation in Nagoya’s Osu area. The same release said the company intended to further accelerate deployment, focusing on Kanto, Kansai, Tokai, Kyushu, and Chugoku.[1]
Then, on August 21, 2026, IJOOZ Japan announced that service in the Tokai, Hiroshima, and Kyushu areas would end progressively by September 30, 2026. Reports specified Aichi, Gifu, and Shizuoka in Tokai, and Fukuoka, Saga, Kumamoto, and Nagasaki in Kyushu. Customers were also told to use remaining app balances, coupons, and tickets before service ended.[2]
From a customer’s perspective, that looks like a sharp turn only a few months after language about expansion.
Two qualifications matter: this is not the end of IJOOZ as a whole, and the company has not publicly established that the regional exit was caused by insufficient repeat demand. Any such claim would be speculation.
Now back to the consumer in this story.
He had never bought one.
4. The Moment Withdrawal Is Announced: “Okay, Maybe I’ll Try It Once”
Human behavior then performs its special move.
Yesterday:
“It’ll still be there. I can try it whenever.”
After the withdrawal announcement:
“…If it’s disappearing, I should probably drink one.”
Suddenly it matters.
The product has not changed.
The oranges have not changed.
My wallet has not changed much.
Only the future availability changed.
“Available anytime” makes an experience easy to postpone.
“Soon unavailable” gives it urgency.
Scarcity, loss aversion, and anticipated regret explain a lot of this.
Two thoughts can coexist perfectly:
“I never cared enough to buy it.”
and
“I don’t want to permanently lose the option.”
That is how farewell demand is born.
People who never came during normal operations suddenly arrive for the final episode.
5. I Am the Person Who Goes to See Them Before They Die
The shortest description is:
I’m the person who goes to see them before they die.
While everything is fine:
“Yeah, I’ll visit someday.”
Terminal announcement:
“Wait, what?”
A few days later:
“I came to see you…”
Exactly.
Except the patient is an orange-juice vending machine.
A condolence visit to a vending machine.
The drink is not a purchase anymore.
It is a final visitation.
The money is not a funeral offering.
It is a funeral offering you can drink.
“You never bought from me before.”
“…I just wanted to see you one last time.”
Too late.
From the business side, the cruel irony is obvious. The drink that might have helped was not the one bought after the exit announcement. It was the recurring drink bought before the announcement.
The grim reaper finally becomes a customer.
6. Why “It’s Packed After the Closing Announcement” Does Not Necessarily Save a Business
Closures often create crowds.
But farewell crowds and sustainable demand are different species.
Demand that sustains a business:
“I buy this normally.”
Farewell demand:
“I buy this because it is going away.”
The second form depends on the ending itself.
If the closure were canceled, the scarcity disappears — and many farewell customers might simply postpone the purchase again.
In the most absurd version:
The store becomes crowded with people who would stop coming if the store decided not to close.
That is why the question “If so many people are coming now, why shut down?” sometimes has a painful answer:
Because they were not coming before the shutdown was announced.
And yes, that hurts, because I am one of them.
7. Conclusion: Not Prophecy, but a “Would I Pay Again?” Sensor — Followed by a Final Visit
The useful conclusion is not that I can magically predict doomed restaurants.
It is that, with food, I may naturally evaluate:
“Not whether someone will try this once, but whether ordinary customers will repeatedly spend their own money on it.”
That can make food-business intuition feel more accurate than intuition about cosmetics or durable goods.
And then, after all that rational analysis, I hear something is disappearing and decide to buy it once.
Where did the rationality go?
It is still there, in a strange form. If a small amount of money can eliminate the future regret of thinking, “I should have tried that once,” then the purchase may be worth it as an experience.
So I go.
I buy the orange juice I ignored while it was available.
Not as the loyal customer who kept the business alive.
As the customer who came to witness the end.
