We're at Target yesterday. We made a return. I know. That's not even the exciting part. We got store credit. Still, not the exciting part.
Kid takes my id, scans it, prints out a receipt, hands me my id, which I carefully replace, hands me a receipt, says it's a gift card return, then wanders away. I ask if I'm done, he says yes.
We make our way through the store, grab the shit we came for-- gardening gloves and a graphic T that reads "No Problemo!"-- plus a couple extra things (potato ricer, chicken scented candle) and go to pay. I hand the cashier the return receipt, and he says I need a gift card. I tell him that this was what I was given. He can't take it.
We pay for our things and go back to the return counter. I give a young woman the receipt. She stops what I assume to be a manager on his way in to the back room. I can only assume he was the manager because he was not wearing any identifiable Target clothing ( with the exception of a t-shirt that read "No Problemo!")
He disappears. Comes back out after about 8 minutes and mumbles, without even really stopping to look at me "I've reviewed the tapes, and you received the gift card." Turns and walks back toward the back room without pausing. I'm standing there with the Pman on my shoulders, we've all waited in line, and this guy--this . . . accusatory guy-- can't even be polite? Never mind the fact that I didn't receive a gift card. Fuck that.
I step out and project, "What? I did not receive a gift card."
He turns wearily, his whole body a sigh that says "another day, another douche" and repeats the eloquent speech from a minute before.
"That's bullshit." I boom. The other customers are getting a show. Good. I want witnesses.
"I didn't get a gift card. Look at the tapes again."
"Sir," he says sir like it's a synonym for moron, "I reviewed the tapes, I saw you get a card; you can't get another one."
At this point I pull out my wallet and slap it on the counter. "Check my wallet." I snap. " Let me see the tapes!" I thunder.
He makes no move to pick-up my wallet. I grab it and start for the back room. The P-man still astride my shoulders, which are now straight with righteousness.
"You can't see the tapes sir. Those tapes can be seen by my eyes only. No one else can view them." He says like he's been saving the line for just this kind of moment. Mother Fucker.
"I did not get the gift card." I spit. My voice going up an octave in to the familiar "I've been wronged" range.
As I say this I lift the wallet up so the crowd can get a good look. I am going to show this asshole and we are going to get our $9.25(It's the principle of the thing, ok?)
Like a magician with a particularly clever card trick, I slide my id from my wallet and the gift card is right fucking behind it.
And the crowd gets a good look.
"Whoops sorry there it is." The words tumble brightly from my mouth like a mentally deficient stream over douche' baggy pebbles. I give the palms up, wide-eyed, my bad shrug that is the international symbol for "let's get the fuck out of here."
He gives me a tight little smile back but I barely see it as we are already making our way toward the exit with the kind of speed only a chagrined dick head can muster.
In my defense, the guy was a bit of an arrogant prick. In his defense, I was a complete asshole. I'd say that makes us even.
Eh, what can I say? I get worked up sometimes.
Lordy.
HM
