Another Target Episode

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Happy Monday, Everyone! I hope that your Father’s Day was glorious! Ours certainly was. {To catch a glimpse of our special day, click here.} The Baked Fried Chicken was a hit, and I even threw in some of my mother’s famous Italian Canolis for dessert. ‘Twas the way to both the Southern and the Italian man’s heart.

{*Note: The following story is even funnier if you read the post, Toothpaste and Concealed Weapons.}

I went to Target last Thursday {for yet the third time in one week} to pick up a few Father’s Day cards. I had a very small window of time to choose and purchase the cards, address them with warm and thoughtful sentiments, and pop them in the post so they would be sure to arrive before Sunday. After about 30 minutes of weeding through Hallmark’s finest on the $2 rack, I had read just about enough BBQ grilling and sports references, “#1 Dad earns 24-hour rights to the remote control”, and disgusting punch lines about Dad’s noisy bodily functions to last me until next Father’s Day, thank you. I made some semi-respectable selections and proceeded to the nearest check out lane. The cashier looked about as thrilled to be working at Target as she was about her self-tanning experiment gone awry. “That will be $32.43”. Now, I’m no math whiz, but I’m pretty sure that 4 dads and 2 grandfathers at $2 a pop do not amount to that much.

“But I found these on the $2 rack.”

A look of contempt that said, “and that’s my problem because…”

“You see, my infant is home with my husband, and I need to get these in the mail today, so I don’t have time to search for new cards and I’m not paying….”

As I was halfway through my compelling story where I all but signed the word o-v-e-r-r-i-d-e, when I realized that Magda wasn’t about to budge. Not only that, but all of her non-verbals indicated that she wasn’t about to make my life any easier. She flipped on the register emergency light as she huffed out from behind her post and stomped ahead of me toward the greeting cards. I’m not so sure at this point things are going to end in my favor. But there it was– a display 3 shelves deep with “Father’s Day Cards” spelled in big bold letters with a $2.00 price tag beneath each row. She smugly points to the microscopic print above the amount that says, “Graduation”. Apparently someone was more interested in their smoke break, and therefore mixed up the Father’s Day and the graduation card displays.

Now, I’ve never been one who prides herself a master in the art of persuasion, so I had to think fast. Do I use…

Flattery? “My, aren’t we looking especially sun-kissed this afternoon”.

Sarcasm? “Aren’t you people called Target Team Members?”

Guilt? “You wouldn’t deny a man’s dying wish to receive a ‘King of the Grill’ card from his grandson now would you?”

Intimidation? “Don’t mess with me, lady. I’m packing.”

But at the risk of losing my Christian witness, I just said, “can I speak to your manager?”

Magda’s face went from brown to red as she stormed up to who I assume was the store manager. She carried on like a chihuahua about “this lady…. she insists… it clearly says ‘graduation’…. ”

And then at last… sweet justice and vindication wrapped up in one little word…

Override.

I beamed.

I could have kissed her.

I didn’t.

I just smiled and paid for my freshly discounted Father’s Day cards–the taste of triumph still fresh in my senses as I drove to Ginny’s house. I couldn’t wait to regale my epic victory to which she replied, “You’re one of those, aren’t you.” Translation: “You really need to get a life, my friend.” Gotta love friends that keep you humble.

Here’s to hoping you get out more often than I do.

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