Hot off the Presses and reprinted from the Town Courier Newspapers: Questionable Behavior By: Maureen Stiles There are times when I need to just run into the store-- any store--pick up something and get in and get out. This is usually after I didn’t see the Sign-Up Genius reminder involving food that is due somewhere in an hour. Or when all of the 3000 black or brown belts I trip over daily, disappear right before a choral performance for one of the boys. Or on the rare occasion that I actually purchase something for myself for a special event which typically occurs two hours before I need to be in the car for said event. Yet, even with the advent of self-check-out, going into a store has become the Bermuda Triangle of errands. Questions, options, buttons to push; all make the process come to a grinding halt. I understand that Montgomery County’s bag tax necessitates an inquiry; even when you are ringing up yourself. Yet, there are so many other questions for each transaction, it is like a game show without any prizes. Question: Would you like to save 15% today? Answer: Theoretically, yes I would. Realistically, not a chance. This would mean applying for a credit card right here at the register using a form with all those little boxes designed to hold one letter each which seems like it would be easy to complete, but is not. There is something very difficult about writing your vital info in super-slow motion and staying in the lines with an audience watching that trips me up. The person behind me in line is willing me to say no as well. So, turning down the credit card offer is really a random act of kindness to all the people in line behind me. You’re welcome. Question: Do you have a rewards card? Answer: Yes, I do, but I haven’t seen it since the day I signed up. I was so flustered from filling out the form with all the boxes designed to hold one letter each, that I have no idea what I did with the card itself. The benefit of receiving the handy miniature, bar-coded card for my keychain was totally lost on me as well. If you have seen my key ring you would know I am at maximum capacity there even though I have no idea what mystery door would be unlocked by at least half the keys. I am afraid to throw them away so I console myself with the notion that the heft of the key chain keeps me from misplacing it. Well, at least it doesn’t stay lost for very long. Question: How would you like your receipt? This is a relatively new question and each version is slightly different on each screen you encounter. Although all include options for printed, e-receipt and no receipt, each combination of the three is then listed as well. I am reminded of probability exercises in school and end up reading and rereading each choice much like casting a ballot on Election Day. Usually, it takes me so long to decipher it, the cashier ends up grabbing the electronic pen, exhaling loudly, pointing the tip upside down over the top of the machine to the box that offers printed and email receipts. She then slams the pen back into its vertical, indented holder without looking at the machine at all. Or looking at me for that matter. I watch as the mile long receipt prints out with my rewards balance, money saved today and coupons for next time. My total spending is barely visible amidst the sea of words and numbers. Question: Would you like to donate to (fill in the blank charity) Answer: Ugh, I hate this question the most. Really. In some stores I stare at the plethora of cut-out stars, clouds or the like that are posted around the register bearing names of folks who have answered yes to this question. I want to be a star but this is not typically how I contribute to a charity and I give plenty. Short of asking for an annual report detailing percentages donated and other qualifiers, I just don’t see my name landing on that wall of fame any time soon. Logically, I know that the cashier really doesn’t care whether I donate or not and would probably be just as happy not to have to fill out one more stinking star before break time, but I feel guilty anyway. So, I cross my fingers behind my back, put this moment on the list for the confessional and lie to this person I have never met, mumbling something about giving the last time I was here. My daily life gives me plenty of opportunity to feel badly about myself; going to the store should not be yet another chance. Question: Can you fill out our online survey? This is usually the last question involved in any transaction. The cashier gets much perkier during this Q and A but by this time I am pretty sure that I have no answers left. The perkiness is the result of the personal nature of this survey as the cashier’s name is written on your receipt and circled for emphasis. My job is to tell corporate how pleased I was with the service that I received. The problem is that this receipt will land in the bottom of something and disappear forever. The bottom of my purse. The bottom of my center console. The bottom of a bag only to reappear two months from now when I use the bag for something else. The transaction number, date and the chirpy signature of that helpful associate will be incinerated before I ever do anything with it. I want to tell them the survey will never happen, but I am hopeful for both of us that this will be the day that some sort of organization enters my life. Instead, I nod, look earnest and even smile when the cashier excitedly reports that my reward for the survey will be a coupon for my next visit. My next visit is the furthest thing from my mind as I reel from the effects of the current transaction. Leaving me to wonder, is all this back and forth really necessary? Well, to me it is overkill and questionable behavior to say the least.
Posted on: Tue, 20 May 2014 12:18:16 +0000
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