“To be honest, I’m just winging it. Life, motherhood, my eyeliner. Everything.” ~Unknown
Along with just about every other suburban mom, I worship regularly at the church of Target. But over the years, I’ve perfected the art of going in for one thing and coming out with less than five, so I like to believe this makes me unique among the tribe. Like, some kind of savant.
Anyway, my Target recently went through a small renovation to make way for Joanna Gaines and the implementation of self-checkout.
Personally, I hate self-checkout. If I have to go into the store, do all the shopping and then do all the work of scanning and bagging my purchases, I feel like I should be rewarded with a discount for having saved the business the cost of an hourly associate.
But today, I needed to make an expedited Target run for three specific things. For me, an expedited run means that I quickly grab the things I need and then swing by Bullseye’s Playground. Because c’mon….I don’t have that much self-control.
The section had been largely picked through and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find anything to add to my basket, so I headed toward the check-out, feeling a little disappointed, but then deciding that my cost savings justified a stop at Starbucks on the way out the door. YES!
My Target has something like 127 check-out lanes, but rarely do they open more than two. Most of the time, I don’t care, because there is ample reading material and a wide snack and beverage selection to keep me occupied while I wait.
But today, I just didn’t have the time. I decided I would have to proceed with self-checkout. I approached the register and began following the instructions on the screen. Then, my eyes shifted upward and I caught sight of something so horrifying, I almost dropped dead.
It took me a second to realize that what I was seeing, was MYSELF; reflected back at me through the over-sized security monitor Target found necessary to perch above each register in self-checkout.
I get it Target, it’s a crime prevention thing. I know that when I pull into the parking lot at this particular Target and spot a KIA parked among the Volvo’s, luxury SUV’s and mini-vans, I hold my purse a little tighter and sometimes jog into the store.
And I read the police blotter for this area. I know what kind of community we live in. All those damned by-law violators and that kid who keeps having pizza’s delivered to his neighbor as a prank….total degenerates.
So, I get it. I really do.
However, why is it necessary for me to have to see myself, on a screen the size of a small TV, and without some kind of selfie filter to soften the blow?
Do you not know your target audience, Target? What mom wants to see the enormous bags under her eyes, in HD?
And I swear, my hair looked far less greasy when I left the house this morning, than it looked on your shiny screen, so do you think you could tone down the brightness a tad?
Also, according to my mirror at home, I look a lot slimmer in the “I Love Twinkies” t-shirt I’m wearing today. Which, by the way, I purchased at your store back in 2005 if that gives you any indication as to how deeply my loyalties lie….so, please, consider adjusting the camera to a more flattering angle.
Thanks to your cruelty, I felt like I had to return the Cadbury Cream Egg I planned to eat for lunch. Now I’ll just go hungry and you lost a sale. And good-luck finding that egg, because I most definitely didn’t put it back where I found it.
Lastly, do you know what always makes a person look better? A black and white image. I don’t think you need to be able to see the exact shade of my freckles (fine….age spots) in so much vibrant color.
Honestly, Target, I’m not happy. But, we both know I can’t quit you.
I’ll be back….probably later today, because I saw you were switching out the seasonal items in Bullseye’s Playground, but this is officially your first strike.
5,999,999,999 more and I’ll start shopping Walmart.
You’ve been warned.