Thursday November 15th

11:35am: Hang up customer service phone call.

3:25pm: Email
Directions for your recent return: please select from one of the following methods for returning merchandise [Eddie Bauer Carseat Protectors (2)]: (1.) Print this confirmation email and make return in store. (2.) Follow the link below to print your return shipping label. Note: shipping charges will be deducted from your return total and applied to your original method of payment.

So I am to return the items I never actually received? Awesome. No surprises here, Target. (I’m tempted to print the label and send them a box of my own…college fraternity-boy flashbacks, never mind.)

5:45pm: Email
Hello Claire. You have received a $29.10 e-gift card from Redeem at (Riiiiggghhht) Redeem in store only with your web-enabled mobile device. (Thank God, once again, for the iPhone.)

Friday November 16th

Determined to spend all twenty-nine dollars and ten cents of the e-gift I so graciously received yesterday, before they try to take it back, I head to Target immediately after dropping off the girls at school. After finding a few necessary pairs of pink and white tights for Eliott and Carter and some red shoe polish, I go to the baby section for the car seat protectors I still want.

They are $16.99.

They were not on sale online, the online price is simply $2.50 cheaper.

I am not happy.

I throw them in cart, positive that I will only end up in the dreaded all-red customer service corner being told by someone half-way on the phone that I need to bring in my original paperwork with the online price for them to do a price-match in the store. Nevermind, I’m trying anyway.

I head to the front of the store where I pick the shortest line (lines, at Target, at nine in the morning people).

A woman approaches from two registers over, takes the front of my cart and says, to my shock and amazement, “I can take you over here. Ooh, you gonna pop any day now? You look great.” (I think this woman might have just found my forgiveness button.)

After ringing up everything but the car seat protectors, I quickly, and as briefly as possible, explain the delivery debacle, the e-gift credit, and the difference in price. Fully expecting her to send me over to the dreaded red corner, I’m trying to be as nice as possible, because, for once, I actually don’t hate this woman. On principle.

She laughs. (Laughs! Have you ever seen a Target employee smile?) “Okay. I’ll just do a customer challenge. You think they were fourteen dollars?”

“Something like that,” I mumble, barely able to contain my desire to jump the counter right there and tackle this woman in a huge, awkward, pregnant lady hug, while simultaneously thinking, “Customer challenge? What is this magical register button that virtually no one has ever pushed before, in my presence? Has this always existed? And why don’t you people employ it with more regularity? Is a giant hole going to open in the floor and suck you into the employee pit of despair the moment you press it? Are you risking your life for my satisfaction at this very moment?”

She keys in the price, scans my phone, and I exit the building having spent a few pennies less (hardly payment for my stress, but I’ll take it) than the online price.


What happened?

And why you no hire more people like this angelic gem of a cashier?

Ongoing Target Saga (Updates)

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