Ce Soir ou Jamais

tonight I write...or never

Saturday, June 18

Ghetto Target

I love shopping at Target- have loved shopping there when I first discovered one here in Seattle back when Darian was still in my belly. And when they changed the Target in my neighborhood from simply a 'concept' store ( at the time they had the concept of being out of everything- especially diapers and wipes) to a full on place to find everything, well, we were happy consumers. I loved walking in through the automatic doors, the bright red plastic carts greeting me, "Thank you for stopping by, I am sure you will fill me up!" and seeing the faces of other cute, suburban moms like myself smiling as they perused the ailes. I especially loved the cute teenagers, roaming around with their walkie talkies doing their best to find everything their customers needed.

Until last night.

Last night I went into Target with a list and a mission to purchase a bouncy house- one that I had seen in a flyer sent out a few weeks ago. And I never look through the flyers, nor do I bring a list with me, so you know that I meant business. My cart was filled with shower soap, paper towels, bath rug, kitty litter, and a Michael Graves designed doggy poop bag dispenser (not on my list!), when I made it into sporting goods and saw, or didn't see, that the particular bouncy house I was shopping for was not on the shelf. I wandered the ailes looking for a Target Team Member, being sure to listen out for the blaring walkie talkie (Uh, do we have *super* absorbent tampons?), when much to my dismay I could not find a sole. I thought I had seen an elderly team member over in the sewing machine aisle, but no, that was just a grandpa, who happened to be wearing a red polo, shopping for some scissors. I wandered for a few minutes more, not being tempted by the end caps whose soul purpose is to sell me crap I do not need. (Extra long beach towels! Star Wars bean bag chair! Golf clubs for Dad! Poop bags already tempted me, thanks!) I was not the only person in search of help...there was an older lady looking just as dazed as I. "What was happening at Target?' we questioned each other. We can *always* find some knowledgeable, go get 'em kid to help out in a pinch. She clarified her feelings during our conversation by adding, "What the fuck has happened to this place?!"

Then we discovered the red phone of assistance. Simply pick it up and a team member will there there to assist you in less than 60 seconds. She picked it up, and waited, and waited. She swore a little bit more (which I couldn't help but find funny- she looked like my friend's mom- all sweet and dressed in her fancy work clothes), then I picked up the phone. And waited. And waited some more. Then the other woman picked up the phone again, and kind of shouted, "There are 2 of us waiting! Is anyone going to help us?!' Like we were trapped in an elevator or something. Actually, it did kind of feel like that.

Along came Mohammed.

The first thing out of Mohammed's mouth was as series of chastising comments over that fact that we did not go to *another red phone* to ask for assistance. "Don't you know that you can go to another phone at the other aisle, be-otch?", he seemed to say in his Pakistan accent. The lady was just as curt with him, "I need an Eddie Bauer lawn chair. I don't care which kind, I just need 2 that match and you don't have any that match. Fucker." Mohammed critized her for choosing the wrong department and she was right back at him to say that no, he didn't know the store very well. She was right, by the way. But then he got her back by asking for a UPC and said that he could not help her if he didn't have this particular number, Bitch!

After the debacle with the lawn chair lady- who seemed to spontaneously combust when Mohammed told her he did not have what she wanted- he asked what I needed. I told about the bouncy house and he asked me for the UPC! What? What is it about you, dude, that you need a frickin' UPC? My shopping list is not a series of numbers, rather it is a column of words- which I showed him. I told him about the flyer and asked him to go look it up. He informed me that he does not get any flyers. "What? You are not provided with material telling you what is going on sale? You are supposed to guess what the fuck you have in the store?" He looked a bit confused with my extensive knowledge of boucy houses- dimensions, features, weight limits, price, page location in the flyer- when he got on the walkie talkie and requested 'Nathan'. I hoped then that the foul language and the inept ability to locate items was going to cease once 'Nathan' arrived.

Nathan, all spindly and pimply in his *button down* red shirt, was ready for action. Not only did he relegate Mohammed to simply fold the giant beach towels and not talk to any customers, he produced the flyers and informed me that I had been smoking crack. The only bouncy houses they have are the ones on the shelf, and there is no mystical flyer with some other house that fits my kid's birthday party needs. What is that? You saw it online? Then you should have ordered it online, bitch.

And so I left Target with my rolls of paper towels and my fancy poop bag dispenser- and no bouncy house- feeling utterly defeated. I looked to my husband and said, "That was just so surreal." He replied, "It's always like that on friday nights. It's Ghetto Target."


  • At 8:54 PM, Blogger Lora said…

    I was trying to figure out what a "bouncy house" could possibly be, and then use mentioned Darian's b'day party and it all came together.

    Yeah that's about how I feel when I go into Lowe's, very annoying.


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