you can't always get what you want

 

I love Target. I hate idiots. Tonight, the two crossed paths.

Take me home.

Mrs. P and I went over to Target to look for a pair of gloves (mine got covered with broken glass when this happened) and to check out the marked-down Valentine's Day candy. As we strolled through the aisles of the grocery department, we came across a display of plush Coca-Cola polar bears. These little characters were playfully stuffed into a two-tiered cardboard shelf  with a large red and white sign on the front explaining how you can bring one of them home. Quite simply, all you need to do is purchase any of the qualifying products in a quantity of three and you'll be one plush polar bear richer. Of course, you could buy thirst-quenching Coca-Cola in an 8 pack of 12 ounce bottles, a 6 pack of 8 ounce bottles (the nifty glass ones!) or an 8 pack of 7.5 ounce cans. Another option, according to the official sign, was to buy three 12 ounce bags of Hershey's candy — that's right — Hershey's. I was not aware of any corporate connection between the manufacturer's of Milton Hershey's and ol' Doc Pemberton's respective comestible legacies, but Target was making the rules, not me. We read and re-read the sign and then my wife grabbed three bags of Reese's Cups and three bags of Rolos and two plush bears. We carefully checked the net weight on each bag and decided that we had fulfilled the offer's requirements.

With a full cart (how'd that happen?), we headed to the checkout area. I dutifully placed each of our potential purchases on the conveyor belt, keeping like items together — boxes of pasta, frozen foods, jugs of iced tea. The last items to be tallied were the plush bears and the candy. Our cashier scanned the bags — each ringing up at $2.49 —and then she scanned the bar-coded tag that was attached to the little fella's ear. The cash register monitor lit up with a big $9.99.

Mrs. P spoke up. "Those are free with the purchase of three 12 ounce bags of Hershey candy. There's a sign that says so."

The cashier scanned the items again with the same result. "It would say that there's somethin' free on th' screen," she said, "if these are free an' it ain't sayin' nothin'." She called Arturo, the front end supervisor, for assistance. Arturo and his necktie (the sign of a supervisor at Target) made their way over. He hefted a bag of Reese's Cups and examined it as though it was a newly discovered dinosaur fossil, turning it over several times in his hand. Once again, my wife explained the offer, this time to Arturo. He listened, although his expression was one of befuddlement. He snapped the transmit button on his store-issued walkie-talkie and repeated "Market! Come in!" until a reply crackled back.

"Check the Coca-Cola polar bears. Lady says you buy three and get a free bear. Check the candy aisle," he said into the walkie-talkie, "What's the sign say?"

"They're in the soda aisle," my wife corrected.

Without getting confirmation from his "scout in the grocery department," Arturo informed us that these candies were not included and they were not on sale. Clearly, he was clueless about the store's inventory, layout, and promotional offers. Again, Mrs. P slowly and concisely reiterated the offer to Arturo. 

Just so there is no confusion, let's pause our story to recap the actual offer that caught our attention and piqued our interest. First, there was the sign on the display.

 

Yeah, it looks like I read that right. Then, there's the bags of candy.

Approved!

Yep, they are both Hershey products and they each tip the scales at 12 ounces. We bought three bags of Rolo and three bags of Reese's Cups. So far, so good.

Finally, my wife went back to the actual display, although Arturo insisted that he could not leave the front of the store. Another Target associate would meet Mrs. P to validate her claim. My wife was met by a young lady who identified herself as a manager (outranking a mere supervisor). Together they read the sign on the display, confirming the offer. 

The manager asked my wife who was giving her a hard time at the cash register. She said it was a young man.

"Was he about this tall?," the manager asked, cutting the air with the palm of her hand at about chin level.

"About.," Mrs. P answered.

"Was he wearing a red shirt?," she continued her line of questioning.

My wife cocked her head to one side. "You are all wearing red shirts!"

"Was he wearing a tie?"

"Yes," Mrs. P said, "He was."

"Arturo!," the manager exhaled and rolled her eyes. Via walkie-talkie, the manager contacted the cashier and authorized the "free bear with qualifying purchase" deal. 

When Mrs. P arrived back at the checkout area, Arturo had conveniently "gone on break."

(* A footnote to this tale: two different customers stopped me and asked if I worked in the store.)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

tan shoes and pink shoe laces

We went to Target this afternoon. I like Target. I don't like K-Mart or Walmart (or shopping in particular), but Target I like. In addition to picking up some things for an upcoming pre-holiday get-together at our house, we were in search of a cool, limited edition Target gift card. Not just a run-of-the-mill, three-inch-by-two-inch piece of plastic with a magnetic strip and a bar code. This gift card is a real toy car with the iconic Target dog sitting behind the wheel. It comes with a little map of the United States and, once unfolded, the Target dog tools around the US in his car ... looking for other Target stores, I guess. (Go ahead. Tell me that's not the coolest thing you've ever seen. Okay... one of the coolest things.)

We walked up and down every aisle of the store, hunting down end caps displaying their selection of gift cards. Since the giving of cards instead of gifts has gained popularity, these displays are just about everywhere in the store. And, of course, each display exhibited an empty hook where our desired gift cards should have been hanging. We moved from aisle to aisle, display to display — all with the same result.

Finally, my wife approached a young man who was taking books out of a shopping cart and placing them on a shelf. Obviously, he was an employee. She asked him if he knew where the elusive gift card could be found. He replied hesitantly, pointing in several directions and gesturing with his head in several more. Mrs. P thanked him and she walked back towards me, shrugging her shoulders.

A little further down the same aisle, Mrs. P asked another employee the same question. She even gave a more detailed description of the card in question. The fellow said, "I'll ask Mike. He knows everything about everything in this store."

"I think I already asked him," my wife interrupted  "Is he putting out books right over there?" She pointed to our previous location.

"Uh, yeah," he concurred, "He's wearing a red shirt and khaki pants, right?"

My wife stared expressionless for a moment. "You're all wearing red shirts and khaki pants."

"Oh," he chuckled, and with a half-cocked grin, "I guess we are."

*******

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

police on my back

In 2004, after many visits to Walt Disney World in Florida, my family and I headed west to Walt's original theme park — Disneyland.

In the late afternoon, we found ourselves on Harbor Boulevard in Anaheim via Las Vegas after a four-hour drive through the Mojave Desert. Our hotel, a Holiday Inn on Harbor at the corner of Ball Road, overlooked the back of It's a Small World. Peeking out from just beyond the tops of some shielding trees was the ominous white spire of Space Mountain.

Since it was so late in the day, we decided to experience Disneyland beginning bright and early the next morning. We set out to briefly explore the neighborhood and to look for a store to purchase some snacks and drinks to sneak into the park the next day. We climbed into our rental car and drove north on Harbor Boulevard toward a huge knot of strip malls, open-air shopping centers and fast-food restaurants.

A huge red and white Target sign beckoned to us like a familiar friend. We knew Target and we love Target. They're sure to have everything we needed. My wife navigated the car through the crowded parking lot towards the entrance which faced away from the busy street. We scouted the area for an open parking space when we spotted a rather large section noticeably absent of cars. As we drew closer, we saw seven or eight Anaheim police vehicles parked in a semi-circle in the open area. We pulled around the last cruiser and were greeted by the sight of a dozen or so uniformed officers, some with their guns drawn. Sitting on the ground, cross-legged, was a young man. His arms were up and bent at the elbows. His hands were resting on the crown of his head, the fingers laced. He looked up at the policemen, some of whom had a revolver pointed at him. He looked worried.

We quickly found a parking space at the other end of the lot. As we entered the store, my son noted that just a few blocks from the dire scene playing out before our eyes was The Happiest Place on Earth. We laughed.

I'm sure that young man did not.