10 January 2012

the end of an era

i am a wanderlust shopper.  rows of sparkly tops, delicate earrings, strangely labeled foods, and artificially scented makeup: meeting and exploring all these exciting items at target are what my dreams are made of.  WERE made of, pardon me.  prior to a few weeks ago, spending a few hours at target could be the highlight of my week.  but now, i have just this thin plastic giftcard to represent my passion for this now defunct utopia that smells like fresh popcorn and smiles.




let me explain.  a little odd fact about me: i have developed a serious problem buying excessive lingerie.  new little delicates under my clothes make me feel pretty.  so i buy a ton of them.  in a moment of self-loathing, i bought a bra at target.  then, a week or so later, in a moment of checkbook-balancing, i decided to return it.  the tags were still attached, and my receipt was in hand when i walked through target's door.

i presented my item and receipt at the customer service counter.  i explained that the debit card i used to purchase the bra was now closed (since when did we conceive of a world without free checking accounts at US Bank?) and that cash back would be preferred.

the girl behind the counter scanned some stuff, pushed a few buttons, and then flatly told me the only option was to give me in-store credit.  rather confused,  i asked why.

"because that's what the computer says," she responded.

awkward silence followed.




i asked for a clarification about the store's return policy.  the item was unused, i had the original receipt, and i was returning the item just a few weeks after purchasing.  she repeated again that i would not receive cash; a giftcard was the only option.

"i hate to be *that person*," i said, "but will you please get a manager?"

now, as you have read in previous posts, you know i serve some pretty strange people at the pharmacy counter.  i know what it's like to have some idiot asserting some authority over company policy (or, you know, federal LAW) and demanding an impossible solution to a problem that is very much NOT mine.  so i understood-- even empathized a little-- with her near-eye roll and her monotone explanation to her supervisor about my concerns.

her superviser confirmed my worst fears after i re-explained my situation-- following the return policy but not able to receive the proper refund.  "the computer only shows giftcard as an option. i don't know why.  do you want a giftcard?"

"is it because it's december?" i asked, eyeing the counters and baskets overflowing with random returned items.

"do you want a giftcard or not?" she asked me again.

my first thought was wal-mart would never, ever let this happen.  and my second thought was albertson's would never, ever let this happen.  where was the understanding?  where was the apology?  where was the damn respect as a loving and faithful patron of this red-splattered haven for all things domestic and fashionably cheap?  WHERE WAS MY REFUND?

"fine," i admitted. "giftcard."  and with that, both girls pushed a few more buttons and went along their dream-crushing days.




as much as i love(d) target, there's a line.  and it was crossed.  i forgave target when they stopped carrying my shoe size; i chalked it up to the bad economy.  i forgave target when my sunglasses snapped in half for no reason after just two uses; i chalked it up to the bad economy.  i even forgave target when i paid almost double for the same item i could have purchased cheaper somewhere else; i chalked it up to the bad economy.  but, cheating me out of my money, regardless of a bad economy, just isn't acceptable.





i don't really know what i am going to do now.

fred meyer: if ever you've been waiting for my love and patronage, here's your chance to step up.

07 January 2012

flawed

dear reader,

this post has been rattling around in my skull for months now.  i have hesitated to post because i do not want to drag you down into my deep, empty, lonely abyss of darkness.  but i also want to retain the integrity of my blog: here, i do not pretend to mask the strange, particular creature into which i have developed.

so, reader, i will be honest with you.

i have never felt so unsure of life and purpose.  perhaps my vacillating attitude towards my existence stems from the depressing fact that i am no longer whole; body, mind, soul, and heart are separated and scattered.  because my body, you see, is here.  and my heart there.  and my mind somewhere else.

and i wish i could express myself to you, even if it's violent and disheartening and miserable.  because-- i think-- once i can/will, things will change.

i wish i could access whatever is inside me that holds me back.  i wish, in some cheesy way, that i could be like santana (and you could be brittany) and we could reach an understanding about our individual roles in a larger play.



on a lighter note, there is a pending blog post about my bicycle.  stay tuned.

forever reaching-- with both hands,

a.