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Last night my wife and I decided to get up off our tired asses that resulted from a prior evening of imbibing various party substances to do last minute shopping for our daughter. We put on sweats, coats too warm to wear in department stores and strip-malls and slowly moseyed ourselves to the car, dreading facing the stupidity of holiday shoppers.
We headed first to Target. We figured we would buy one of those MP3 players to replace the one mysteriously smashed to pieces by our 10 year-old. Walking in the entrance, we bobbed and weaved towards the back of the store, squeezing passed those people who insist on standing in the middle of the aisles with their screaming children penned inside shopping carts, towards where the electronics was kept under lock and key.
Feeling overdressed and incredibly warm we begin scanning the glass for the ideal replacement player; one cheap enough to write off if it faces the same fate as its predecessor. With cost and features in mind we find a decent one made by Creative Labs. Being a computer guy, the brand name had me pretty much sold. The reasonable price put me over the edge. So I waved over the first available seasonal teenage electronics warden I could find. He opened the glass, removed the device, handed it directly to one of two cashiers in the area kiosk and motioned for me to get in line; otherwise I just might sneak out the store without paying.
Heading towards the kiosk, I make the strategic decision to stand in the shorter of two lines by about three people. I look towards the front of the line and notice a very determined thirty-something year old woman attempting to use a Target gift card with little success. My wife decided on the “divide and conquer” method of shopping and left me in line while she went looking for another gift item. Feeling annoyed over having to endure this alone, I’m thinking I better not have to go looking for her after getting out of this short line.
Ten long minutes goes by with no change in line status. I notice how warm and tired I’m feeling. Last night’s events catching up with me again, coupled with the stale warmth of about five hundred shoppers, I was regretting wearing my goose down overcoat over a pair of sweats and my decision to stand in the shorter line. The determined shopper with the gift card is now aggravated, while the frustrated cashier repeatedly attempts to use an otherwise functional register. She gets on the horn looking for a manager to assist her. In the meantime another “smart” shopper gets in the short line behind me. I say nothing. Why should I suffer alone?
My wife returns, fruitless in her search, stands next to me at the exact place she left me. The cashier works some register magic and gets the now angry woman’s gift card to work. She completes her purchase and moves on. The gentleman in front of me moves up to place his items down on the counter for the cashier. For a moment I got real excited. I moved up one whole person! My excitement crashed like a ton of bricks when the man in front of me asked for a price check. The ghost in the register machine reared its ugly head again and became uncooperative. Didn’t it know it was Christmas time? The cashier once again gets on the horn for a price check. She reads off the UPC symbol on the box. The customer interrupted her and changed his mind on purchasing the mysteriously priced item. He HAD to be feeling some of what I felt at this point and was dying to exit the short but long line.
With the card scanner obviously on the fritz, this guy thought he was going to be slick and pay cash. He whipped out two twenty dollar bills for a twenty-seven dollar purchase, but the register wasn’t done fucking with its prey. The cashier totaled purchase, entered cash received on the keypad and, for some reason, the register would not open its cash drawer. I snickered. My wife rolled her eyes. The guy behind me began to shoot snide comments to me regarding the competency of the clerk, but he wasn’t standing in line as long as I was. I KNEW it was that damned register!
One more time, the now verbally frustrated cashier gets on the horn with some magician on the other end whose specialty was in exorcising machine ghosts. While waiting for a response from whoever was on the other end of the phone, the customer began to start looking through his pockets, scurrying for exact change; anything to get the hell out of Dodge. Suddenly without touching any buttons, the cash drawer just popped open. She completed the exchange; gave the customer his bagged items and change and he hurried towards the front of the store with determination. I move to stand in front of the cashier with a smile and a touch of apprehension. Am I the next victim?
The cashier looks at me with a tired smile. I, empty-handed, return the same exchange and reached for my wallet assuming the woman knew the item the warden handed her twenty minutes ago was fresh in her mind. I panicked. For a moment I totally forgot what the mysterious item I stood in line all this time determined to purchase. “May I help you?” she said. Instantly it returned to me. The MP3 player. That’s it! “I’m buy the Creative MP3 player.” I replied. That wasn’t the name brand but who made it. Saying “Creative” in the description I knew wouldn’t help a non-computer geek much in finding it but I had faith.
The cashier begins to rifle through the thirty other items in six piles and finds it. I pulled out my credit card and prayed. “Is that it?” she asked. “Yes.” I returned. She rang it up. I handed her my plastic. I moved towards the digital pad where you sign the screen with the attached faux pen and hit the “OK” button and waited for my cue. It didn’t work! I was the next victim. I began to sweat even more than when I was just happily overdressed only moments ago. The cashier, seeing the apprehension in my face, responded to me. “The pad doesn’t work.” She never said the credit card transaction didn’t work. I felt better. She handed me the paper receipt and a pen. I signed it. She bagged both my single item and the receipt and handed it to me. I thanked her and we moved away from the electronics section towards the exit sign.
I was obviously in a hurry to leave. No longer distracted by the waiting line, I noticed how dehydrated and tired I felt from drinking yesterday and sweating today. Being all hot, bothered and exhausted, we were making our way towards the outside; however my wife, who has absolutely no tolerance for others’ stupidity, was even more so. She kicked it into 4th gear, put on the cow-catcher and railroaded herself through traffic towards the front checkout aisles, parting to the sides of the aisles anyone who got in her way.
She left a wake of air even I can feel as she increased her distance between us. I was too tired to move at her speed and take advantage of the parting seas so I moved at my own pace and squeaked through the now calmed seas. She was still in my sights when we reached the checkout lines. The only way to the exit was through these people standing in line. Now these lines are double-wide, meaning if you stand in line (key words being “in” and “line”) there should be no issue moving passed these people to the exit. Not so.
One family felt it necessary to stand askew the line they were in, leaving no room for those who wish to leave move through comfortably. This is one of many examples of shopper stupidity. My wife responded to it in kind by blasting through the family towards the exit. The small child standing in between her father and the handle of the cart bounced between them like a ping-pong ball. The surprised couple looked on at her as if she was the rude infidel, not knowing her husband was approaching them. Not getting the hint to move the fuck out of the way, I approach standing behind the clueless, inconsiderate parents with my obvious presence. I asserted myself, exclaiming “excuse me” and shoved their shopping cart far enough towards the side where it was supposed to be in order to move forward, all the while chuckling audibly and not looking back at the dense fools.
We finally made it to the outside! Well at least I did, while my wife waited anxiously for me at my car. We both got in the car. Sitting down in the driver seat, I realize how tired I am and how much I really need a pick-me-up. Being the coffee hound I am, a large Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee would be the answer to a hot and thirsty shopper like me. Wanting also to stay in the immediate area to resume the mayhem of Christmas shopping, I didn’t want to stray too far, decided that since Starbucks was within the same shopping area that I would look for the answer to my quest there. My wife suggested we hold off on that trip and go around the corner a few stores down and hit EB Games for another item to cross off the daughter’s list.
The long line to the checkout counter at EB was expected, unlike the circumstances surrounding the Target excursion, and acceptable. Still, I was wearing the long overcoat and was feeling the energy leave my body. We managed to purchase another gift without incident and eventually proceeded to the most needed and deserved cold caffeine beverage waiting for me around the corner.
Walking in the door, any customer who doesn’t frequent this franchise would be overwhelmed with the coffee choices. Frappes, cappuccinos, lattes, and many other coffee items clouded the menu as I scanned the overhead board for the very simple iced coffee. “Wow, I really need this if I’m going to continue!” I thought to myself. My wife quickly found her choice of beverage and I encouraged her to order her peppermint something-or-other while I stare aimlessly at the ridiculous and overpriced choices. It was my turn to order.
I have been waiting for this moment for about two hours at this point. “This drink wouldn’t last three minutes.” I thought as I got increasing excited to give the young girl behind the counter my portion of the order. “I’ll have an iced coffee.” I said. “How do you want it?” She asked as if her tone implied a question.” I’ll have 4 equals and cream.” I replied and thought she would make the beverage to my liking. Thinking this was a simple request I was not expecting the seasonal help to tell me, “The iced coffees come pre-sweetened.” That was not the right answer to give to a diabetic. For all that, she may as well have just stood on the counter, dropped her drawers, pried my mouth open and taken a nice healthy shit after the experiences and feelings I had at that moment and then delivering the ultimate letdown! My wife, delightfully sipping her “coffee” shoved her coffee in my face. “Here, try this!” she said with excitement. I said what any disappointed person would say at the counter at that moment aloud, “Get that the fuck out of my face!” Paid my five dollars and stomped out the door empty-handed. “Where are we going for dinner?!” I barked at my wife, thinking at this point how badly I needed a beer.
When did getting an iced coffee get so damned complicated?
