Don’t live in a small town if you can’t behave
07/02/10 06:15
I never thought I’d say this but living in a small
town has its disadvantages. Don’t get me wrong, I
love my little community; there’s no better place to
raise kids. But the very thing that makes you feel
safe – that people know each other – can also come
back to bite you if you misbehave.
When people know one another there is a certain sense
of accountability that seeps into one’s behavior and
keeps one civil…most of the time. There is no horn
honking if drivers hesitate at a traffic light. There
is no fist-waving when the mile-long train, which
roars through the heart of town several times daily,
forces us to wait at the railway crossing. Road rage
simply doesn’t exist here in our little burg. Chances
are if you did react like a New York cabbie, you’d be
hollering in the face of your son’s kindergarten
teacher so people just behave themselves, smile and
wave.
Yes small-town living has always been my choice. I never longed for the anonymity of the city until the day a type of insanity gripped me and I did the unthinkable.
One of our grocery stores has Coupon Days twice monthly where you can save 15 percent on purchases. Saving $30 on a $200 cart of groceries means “free” pizza for supper! I try to do most of my buying on those days.
On a Coupon Day many years ago, one of the items on my list was underwear. The miser in me decided that even though this store didn’t carry my preferred brand, I could buy the house brand and hope for the best. Once in the store, I found the style I like (picture a man on the beach in the 1920s), located what I thought was my size, tossed two packages in my overloaded cart and headed for the checkout.
After hauling all my groceries into the house and putting the produce away, I opened one of the two packages and pulled out something that looked like a crib sheet! What? I checked the package where the size was listed; M, I read. Well, M did not mean Medium, maybe Maternity! Major Maternity! Monstrous Maternity! False advertising! I was steamed.
Here’s where the insanity part comes in. Although I had read the sign in the department saying “No Returns” I grabbed both packages and returned to the store determined that justice be won.
I stood in line until my turn came, placed the goods on the conveyor belt, smiled sweetly at the cashier and began, “These are not my brand, and even though they are supposed to be my size, they’re not what they say they are and I would like to return them.”
The cashier replied, “There are no returns….”
“Yes, I know, I read the sign,” I interrupted. “However, it’s not the sort of thing you can give to a friend,” I spoke conspiratorially to the cashier, hoping to get her on my side. “What would I say? ‘These are huge on me but they should work for you,’” I hoped my little impossible scenario would convince her that I had looked for other possibilities but found none.
The cashier looked at the coupon-day lineup, heaved a dramatic sigh, and got on the horn: “Manager! Manager! Come to Till Four!”
Up came some kid about the age of my oldest daughter. He had probably been in her graduation class.
“What seems to be the problem here?” he asked, all smiles. Stepping aside, the cashier simply crossed her arms and nodded her head in my direction.
“This is not my brand and I had no way of knowing what size to buy since there are no samples up on the wall in that department so I bought medium which is the size I take but when I got home and opened the package I saw that not all mediums are equal and I think it’s really not fair to advertise something is a certain size when really it’s not it’s much much bigger than that and it’s not going to work for me and I would like to return them,” I took a breath.
“There are no returns on ….,” the manager began, seizing his opportunity.
I snapped. Grabbing the opened package, I pulled out a sample, stretched them wide and interrupted, “I’m no Tinkerbell, but does this look like a medium to you?!” The lineup behind me gasped in horror. The manager blanched.
“Give her a full refund,” the manager croaked to the cashier as he scuttled away.
The irritated cashier still had a little fight left in her. “I’ll refund you on the unopened package, but not the other one,” she declared, standing her ground.
“What do you think I did?” I whispered hoarsely, leaning in closer. “Went home, put them on, wore them all around town, washed them, dried them, and ironed the creases back in before coming here?”
Her response was to pound on the appropriate keys so that the cash drawer flew open so fast it almost knocked her over. She counted out a full refund and dropped it in my outstretched hand without meeting my eye.
As soon as the money hit my palm I knew how Judas must have felt as he clutched his 30 pieces of silver. Sometimes winning is losing.
It took me three months, a new hairdo and dark glasses before I found the courage to return for another Coupon Day. It took a lot longer than that before this awful encounter became a funny story. And what makes it even funnier is that my neighbor attended an event last month where I told this story and as soon as I began to describe the encounter, she leaned over and whispered to her tablemate, “I’ve never told Connie, but I was there with my kids that day. I’ve never forgotten the scene of her holding those outstretched underpants for all the world to see. I always wondered what in the world she was trying to prove with that little display!”
Trying to prove? Nothing more than that man (and woman) is depraved and in need of a Savior! If not for forgiveness and grace, I’d be hopelessly lost.
Yes small-town living has always been my choice. I never longed for the anonymity of the city until the day a type of insanity gripped me and I did the unthinkable.
One of our grocery stores has Coupon Days twice monthly where you can save 15 percent on purchases. Saving $30 on a $200 cart of groceries means “free” pizza for supper! I try to do most of my buying on those days.
On a Coupon Day many years ago, one of the items on my list was underwear. The miser in me decided that even though this store didn’t carry my preferred brand, I could buy the house brand and hope for the best. Once in the store, I found the style I like (picture a man on the beach in the 1920s), located what I thought was my size, tossed two packages in my overloaded cart and headed for the checkout.
After hauling all my groceries into the house and putting the produce away, I opened one of the two packages and pulled out something that looked like a crib sheet! What? I checked the package where the size was listed; M, I read. Well, M did not mean Medium, maybe Maternity! Major Maternity! Monstrous Maternity! False advertising! I was steamed.
Here’s where the insanity part comes in. Although I had read the sign in the department saying “No Returns” I grabbed both packages and returned to the store determined that justice be won.
I stood in line until my turn came, placed the goods on the conveyor belt, smiled sweetly at the cashier and began, “These are not my brand, and even though they are supposed to be my size, they’re not what they say they are and I would like to return them.”
The cashier replied, “There are no returns….”
“Yes, I know, I read the sign,” I interrupted. “However, it’s not the sort of thing you can give to a friend,” I spoke conspiratorially to the cashier, hoping to get her on my side. “What would I say? ‘These are huge on me but they should work for you,’” I hoped my little impossible scenario would convince her that I had looked for other possibilities but found none.
The cashier looked at the coupon-day lineup, heaved a dramatic sigh, and got on the horn: “Manager! Manager! Come to Till Four!”
Up came some kid about the age of my oldest daughter. He had probably been in her graduation class.
“What seems to be the problem here?” he asked, all smiles. Stepping aside, the cashier simply crossed her arms and nodded her head in my direction.
“This is not my brand and I had no way of knowing what size to buy since there are no samples up on the wall in that department so I bought medium which is the size I take but when I got home and opened the package I saw that not all mediums are equal and I think it’s really not fair to advertise something is a certain size when really it’s not it’s much much bigger than that and it’s not going to work for me and I would like to return them,” I took a breath.
“There are no returns on ….,” the manager began, seizing his opportunity.
I snapped. Grabbing the opened package, I pulled out a sample, stretched them wide and interrupted, “I’m no Tinkerbell, but does this look like a medium to you?!” The lineup behind me gasped in horror. The manager blanched.
“Give her a full refund,” the manager croaked to the cashier as he scuttled away.
The irritated cashier still had a little fight left in her. “I’ll refund you on the unopened package, but not the other one,” she declared, standing her ground.
“What do you think I did?” I whispered hoarsely, leaning in closer. “Went home, put them on, wore them all around town, washed them, dried them, and ironed the creases back in before coming here?”
Her response was to pound on the appropriate keys so that the cash drawer flew open so fast it almost knocked her over. She counted out a full refund and dropped it in my outstretched hand without meeting my eye.
As soon as the money hit my palm I knew how Judas must have felt as he clutched his 30 pieces of silver. Sometimes winning is losing.
It took me three months, a new hairdo and dark glasses before I found the courage to return for another Coupon Day. It took a lot longer than that before this awful encounter became a funny story. And what makes it even funnier is that my neighbor attended an event last month where I told this story and as soon as I began to describe the encounter, she leaned over and whispered to her tablemate, “I’ve never told Connie, but I was there with my kids that day. I’ve never forgotten the scene of her holding those outstretched underpants for all the world to see. I always wondered what in the world she was trying to prove with that little display!”
Trying to prove? Nothing more than that man (and woman) is depraved and in need of a Savior! If not for forgiveness and grace, I’d be hopelessly lost.