The Life and Times of Auntie Sarcastic
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A Harrowing Babies-R-Us experience
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My Harrowing Babies-R-Us Experience
My good friend at work is expecting her first baby; there is a shower for her at work on Tuesday. At 3:30 on Sunday evening, after a 2-week vacation during which I had loads of idle time to go out and pick up a gift, I still had not done so. It was ridiculously cold outside, but there would not be another convenient time before the shower, so it was now or never. A quick e-mail check reminded me that she was registered at Target and Babies-R-Us, which are conveniently in the same shopping center. There was still much on my "To Do During Vacation" list, and since I can never come out of Target without 6 bags full of stuff that I "need" and having killed an hour or more of an otherwise productive afternoon, I figured Babies-R-Us was the better choice. It's only 3 or 4 miles from my house, so my expectation was to be home in 30 minutes. I could then get back to organizing the filing cabinet, scanning old photos, cleaning the basement, scrapbooking, updating the web site, or...more likely.....watching TV. With gift registry photo of my chosen gift item and wallet in hand, off I went - into the 7 degree outdoors.
The time: 3:54.
The parking lot is much fuller than I expected. "Hmm...that's funny. Shouldn't these people be in Lamaze classes or something?" After the third time circling the parking lot, I am seriously, albeit shamefully, tempted to pull my Neon into one of the "Stork Parking" spaces for expectant mothers only. When you think about it, there's virtually no chance of negative consequences. Who's gonna have the balls to challenge me? "Excuse me, ma'am...but are you really pregnant? Because to me, it looks like you're just fat. Could you please pee on this stick so we can verify that you are, in fact, with child?"
But I do the right thing - I park in a legal, non-pregnant spot, bundle up, and shuffle inside. Damn, is it ever cold.
Within just seconds of entering the store, a very pleasant young man with red hair asks if I am finding everything I need, and when I tell him I am looking for a gift registry item and show him my printout, he leads me straight to the aisle that has it. It is some sort of soft, velvety, zippered pouch - or in my words, a receptacle for when you need to store the baby. They even have the right color. How is it possible that there is an entire aisle of velvety, zippered pouches in which to store infants?
My brain tells me: Eureka!....now leave, Betsy. But my heart counters: Why don't you browse for a few minutes?
What portion of the "logic" part of my child-free-by-choice brain would compel me to stick around in a baby store - clearly labeled as such - cruising the aisles for any amount of time longer than that which is absolutely necessary? Seriously...what synapse is on the fritz? I have to admit: I did find an insanely cute thing for my newborn nephew on sale, but it wasn't long before the wailing and screeching snapped me back into reality. I was nearly driven to wail and screech my damn self. All the things on these miniature hangers are really cute, but there are children everywhere. Big ones, small ones, smelly ones, squeaky ones, leaky ones, shrieking ones. Do you think a customers suggestion that there should be one day a week that children are not allowed in Babies-R-Us would be well received by management?
The time: 4:29.
Whaddaya know? They sell gift wrap and baby shower cards here too! So I continue to that aisle.
Could someone please tell me: who in the Hell pays $6.49 for a gift bag? I am more stubborn and cheap than impatient, so I decide to stop at Target and get the wrapping paper there before going home. So much for getting home in 30 minutes. I nix the ridiculously overpriced paper aisle and head to the checkout lanes.
The time: 4:36.
Two lanes are open: #1 and #3. Number 3 is captained by the same redhead who showed me to the cushioned-velvety-zippered baby receptacle aisle earlier. Redhead appears to be very knowledgeable and efficient, but the person in his line has a stack of at least 20 Christmas gifts to return, so I opt for Lane #1. There is just one couple in line; they are buying two large boxes of diapers and baby wipes while their child (who should not still be in diapers) screams his lungs out. They do nothing to soothe, control, or chastise him.
Two more people come up to the check-out area. Redhead doesn't let me down. "Jenna to your checkout lane please...Jenna to your checkout lane," he says over the loudspeaker. "Great!" I think. "I'm gonna get the 'I can help the next person in line' invitation, and I'll be out of here in seconds." I look in the direction of the small cluster of Babies-R-Us associates gathered nearby, poised to attack Jenna and follow her to her lane as she emerges from the herd.
But alas, Jenna does not run with the herd. She appears out of nowhere and opens Lane #4, which is behind me. Unaware of my angst, she cheerily invites the next person in line to check out. By then, four others have lined up to check out. Because they are closer to Lane #4, they get the nod. Still unfazed, I think, "The people in front of me are just buying diapers. This shouldn't take long." And in a perfect world it wouldn't, but they have a coupon. Bloody coupons! The cashier is inexperienced and having troubles with the coupon. After watching them fumble for 2-3 minutes, I make a critical decision to change lanes. I stop in Redhead's lane for just a second before realizing that his return/exchange is very complicated because the man doesn't have a receipt; no discredit to Redhead, but I can't stay here. Meanwhile, Lane #5 opens and another woman gets in line. She, too, has just two boxes of diapers and some baby wipes. I ditch Redhead and go to Lane 5.
The time: 4:43.
While I wait patiently as the woman's two toddlers scream, fondle my chosen items with their sticky little sausage fingers, and throw toy horses at me in Lane 5 (again, the parent does nothing to control them), I observe that the cashier at Lane #4, whom you might recall is named Jenna, is ultra efficient. There were 3 people in her lane, so I had previously bypassed it en route to Lane 5 because Lane 5 had only one person, but in just a few minutes, Jenna whips through 2 of those customers. The woman in front of me has a coupon for her diapers (probably the same coupon as the couple at Lane 1), and issues are emerging. The coupon isn't working, and there's a free gift card involved, and again....the cashier can't figure it out.
As their debate escalates, I hop over to Lane #4. Jenna continues to whip through customers, and there's just one person in front of me. She has one tiny thing, no visible coupon, and already has her cash out of her wallet and ready. She means business. I'm as good as DONE.
But then....it all comes crumbling down. Confused cashier on #5 calls for assistance. "Jenna to Lane 5 please. Jenna to Lane 5." I look over to my original Lane 1, and the same problem has still not been resolved. "Jenna to Lane 1 please, Jenna to Lane 1." Jenna abandons us in Lane 4, quickly resolves the matter on Lane 1, then whizzes past us en route to Lane 5, "I'll be right back, I'm so sorry." The woman in front of me snaps at her, "Well I hope so."
Listen, lady....I got to the checkout arena a good 5 minutes before you even thought about checking out, so shut the FUCK up. You saw me here when you came up front, and you've watched me switch lanes and get screwed twice, but it still hasn't occurred to you that maybe you should let me go first? Am I invisible? Because I'm wearing a bright orange jacket and I'm quite sure that I could pass for 9 months pregnant. So STEP OFF my girl Jenna, Beeeeyotch.
The time: 4:53.
Since the issue at Lane 1 appears to be resolved and no one is in that Lane thanks to SuperJenna, and with SuperJenna now tied up in Lane 5 and my lane uncashiered, I change lanes again....back to Lane 1. Poor Redhead is still dealing with the refund on Lane 3. There is not a soul in front of me. One woman approaches and tries to squeeze in front of me, but I elbow her out of the way. Not today, my friend.
As I lay down my items, the cashier picks up the telephone and says, "Excuse me, I have to take this phone call." I don't say anything out loud, but I must be beet red at this point, because she senses my rage and carefully, sloooowwwwly sets the receiver back on the phone. "I'm sorry ma'am. What can I do for you?" Recoiling, I utter "I know it's not your fault, but I've been in line for over 15 minutes. Every open lane had some sort of coupon complication, and at least 5 people cut ahead of me as new lanes opened up." "I know...I don't understand. I'm really sorry. We haven't been busy all day, and now there's a mad rush and nothing is working."
Now....If I had listened to my brain instead of my heart, I would have been gone at 4:29, home by 4:40, and completely, blissfully unaware that Babies-R-Us carries a line of gift bags, wrapping paper, and greeting cards, and that they are having a diaper sale.
Beepity beep beep beep beepity beep.
"OK, ma'am, that will be $51.39 please." I swipe my ATM card. "Do you have a 'Rewards-R-Us' card, ma'am?" "Nope." "Would you like me to sign you up for one? They're free, and get you get great coupons in the mail." "No thanks, I don't like children. And frankly, I don't have a lot of confidence in your coupons." "Uh...oh, ok." <nervous laughter>
I have scared the Bejesus out of this poor girl. Surely she wonders if I might go postal.
Because she is so adorable and has not been the least bit impatient with me, I muster the pleasantry to thank her kindly for her time. At the exit I meet couple who was originally in Line 1 with the diaper coupon issue. After reviewing their receipt, they see that it is still wrong, and now they are pissed. I glance over my shoulder on my way out; Lane 5 is still backlogged, and the return/exchange at Redhead's Lane 3 is still in unresolved. The woman in SuperJenna's Lane 4 is huffing and puffing.
God, I hope none of my friends get pregnant again soon. If I have to come back to this store, I might throw an aneurysm.
The time: 4:56.
I am off to Target, where I know they love me and coupons work. Even though it's only a couple hundred yards away, I drive. (It is, I remind you, 7 degrees outside). On my way, I realize that I forgot to mention to the adorable, frightened cashier that this was a gift registry purchase. I don't want my pregnant friend to have to hassle with returning duplicate gifts, so I decide that although it goes against every fiber of my being, I need to go back. But first, Target.
The selection of gift bags is not much better or cheaper at Target, but I find something acceptable (as well as 4 to 5 unnecessary snack items, a bottle of Aunt Jemima Lite, Sobe drinks on sale for a buck, 3 E-Z Macs, and two eye shadow brushes - for the whopping 6 times a year that I wear eye makeup) and pay my $22.64 tab without incident.
The time: 5:11.
I return to Babies-R-Us.
I bring in the receipt and the photo of the item that I'd printed from the gift registry online. Same girl working. "Hello ma'am, do you have a return?" she says.
"Hello dear. I'm the grumpy woman who was in here a few minutes ago. Remember, I'm the one who told you I don't like children?" "Oh, yes ma'am. <nervous laughter> Hello again. What can I do for you?" Her body stiffens and she takes a step backward, probably wondering where that emergency button is - the one for robberies that they told her about during training. "I just need to ask you to remove this from a gift registry; I forgot to mention it when I was here." She softens. "Sure ma'am, I can take that off the registry for you. I'll just need to refund the item and resell it to you." This seems a bit superfluous, but she assures me that I won't need to go back out to my car and get the item or my credit card. "We don't know the gift registry number, so I'll just look up the registry online." She finds it and decides that it is prudent to print the entire 12-page registry so that she can get the 6-digit identifying number from the upper right corner of it.
If there's one thing I dislike more than screaming, uncontrolled children, it's wasting paper. But I don't have the heart to inflict any further irreversible emotional damage upon this sweet kid. Instead I just smile and ask, "Do you recycle paper here at Babies-R-Us?" "Yes ma'am, we sure do!"
And of course, it doesn't print at the customer service counter; it prints at the baby registry consultation area nearby. While I step out of line, over to the consultation area to pick up an entire tree's worth of paper, another customer tries to get in front of me. Um, no.
As the cashier punches buttons, I glance over at Lanes 3, 4, and 5.
Redhead has things under control in Lane 3 (I've always had a good feeling about him). In Lanes 4 and 5, each has a customer with two large boxes of diapers, and the respective cashiers are absorbed in verbal discount combat with their customers, and there is a growing line of people behind them.
SuperJenna is going to have a busy night.
And in case you're wondering...yes, I parked in a Stork Parking space on my second visit. I dare you to ask me if I'm pregnant, motherfuckers.
The time: oh, what difference does it make? Sunday is shot.