For me, long gone at the days where I’m able to run into Target, grab a few things, and get out for less than $100.
Boutique Target has always had a certain seduction about it. One finds themselves aching with pure and raw Target lust that brings out the animal inside. Some kind of insane, primal instinct comes from haphazardly roaming the isles, thinking that with each inexpensive thing you all of a sudden found that you have to have right now or you’ll shit yourself, will only cost you a few extra bucks.
But you soon discover, that when you get to the register, you have just spent your car payment on not just paper towels, but on a full table setting of knock off Fiestaware for 12, with matching table linens, and complete with votive sets for perfect ambience for a dinner party you’ll never have, because you hate to cook and you don’t know 12 people you’d actually let into your home.
That’s how Target fucks you. Cheap shit to make your life better. You may be broke now, but you’ll be eating those ramen noodles out of the coolest bowl ever.
I go to Target once a month to stock up on everything we need that we deem as basic to the practical running of our lives. Paper towels, toilet paper, noms to feed the four legged beasties, and yes, the occasional pair of shoes that look awesome in its box on my closet floor.
Whatever the case, I don’t step foot into Target without being armed with the only artillery I have in my arsenal of dollars and "sense"; coupons and a shopping list.
I’m a hard ass, shopping nazi. I stick to the list, I comparison shop like a mother, and I go as far as to tally up what I’m spending so I don’t piddle when I get to the register and see a total that is the same amount as my multi-packaged cable bill.
So, here I am in line, with this dude behind the register who openly admits he doesn’t belong there. He says he’s in stock, but they’re under staffed so here he is, pretending to know how to work this thing on my time.
And actually, that’s cool.
Because I have also been the asshole behind the register, trying to fake competency while the person on the other side waits impatiently, tapping their credit card on the counter, looking at me as if she’s going to slap my momma for giving birth to such a stupid child.
I told him not to rush on my behalf. The people standing behind me were not as cool with his self imposed training session. And I was about to defend the guy, and that’s when he screwed me.
Dude had no idea how to register my coupons, and there were A LOT of them. At least ten, and I needed every penny that they saved me. My totals told me that I should have had at least $15.00 coming back from those coupons, and that money was going to go right into my gas tank, right to BP, right into the Gulf Coast. Alas the circle of life.
The guy missed my buy one, get one free. That’s a big faux pas, as I wouldn’t be buying one unless I was getting one free. In his attempt to fix the error, the register froze. That didn’t stop him from ringing the rest of the coupons, with him assuring me that after the register unfroze, all of my savings would show up.
Did that happen?
Of course not.
Did I ask him to do it again?
I did. But first, I checked it out with the woman who was standing behind me. Not like she’s going to be able to say no. However, I at least wanted her to know that I was aware that she was an innocent victim to this line- time sucker, not that it was going to stop me from getting my fucking $15.00.
But what this dude did that screwed me yet again, was he had already deposited my coupons into his coupon grave in his register. The dude was too flustered to go and fish them out, and it became really apparent that to ask him to do so, would cause him to either cry or stab me. Or both.
So, I bid adieu to cashier dude, said merci to the (by this time) six people behind me, and ran like hell out of there.
I believe I was lucky to get the four coupons that I did. The other six that didn’t register, free money for Target. I guess let the whole thing go, because I didn’t want to be that woman; that horrid person who holds the whole register hostage. Also because of the people behind me needed to have their own special moment with the cashier who had no clue how to work his register.
I saw the third chick in line with a whole envelope that I’m sure was just full of (expired) coupons, so register dude got to spend his shift in baptism by fire. Win-win for us all.
Minus my $6.00.