Mar 31, 2009

You Might Be A Redneck...

Apologies to Jeff Foxsworthy, but here goes: 

If you’re buying a pregnancy test while in the check out line at the Dollar Tree store, then you might be a redneck.

I’ve actually seen these pregnancy tests and wondered how accurate they could be?  False Positive?  I think so.  But really…do the results of a $1.00 pregnancy test even matter if you’re buying it at The Dollar Tree store? Seriously. Don’t buy such an important life-changing boxed test just because it’s at eye-level next to the AA batteries in the check out line.

I used to take my mom to the Dollar Tree store at least twice a month.  It was where she got the most bang for her buck.  She loved walking down the aisles and seeing all the stuff she could buy for only a dollar because the price point on nearly everything fell within the range of her monthly fixed income of $60.00.  She bought knickknacks and bags of house branded snacks.  I kept myself occupied during these excursions by hanging out in the candy aisle scoping out limited edition Skittles and Dark Chocolate bars that didn’t sell so well when they were originally introduced for mass market consumption.

The Dollar Tree store was where I found cute little “First Place, Second Place and Honorable Mention” ribbons to give to my co-workers this past Christmas for recognition of their creative quotes throughout the year.  

The Dollar Tree also has a great paper goods section and I loved getting lost looking for really unique gift bags and funny greeting cards that were passed over years ago from American Greetings. The sentiments remained the same.

Since my mother passed away, going into the Dollar Tree store  feels really taboo to me.  I have gone into the Dollar Tree a few times and I swear I can feel the ghost of my mother. She haunts me in the aisles calling out my name and I smile sadly to myself when I see all the ugly little trinkets that she loved so much cluttering up the shelves of seasonal displays.  Quite simply, I shouldn’t be shopping at The Dollar Tree anymore.

And I’m pretty sure that if I suspect I might be pregnant, I’m splurging and buying the pregnancy from the local drugstore.  They just better have the CVS brand in stock or I’m off looking for fuzzy bunnies.
 

Mar 19, 2009

Ashes to Ashes

Have you seen those ceramic jars usually found in greeting card stores that have cute sayings written on them?  Stuff like “Girls Night Out” fund or “Saving for a Harley Davidson” or “Bingo Night”



I was at my car dealership recently and as I was checking out with the cashier, I noticed she had a jar on her desk that read “Ashes of Problem Customers”  I was taken aback by this little jar because I love my dealership so much because they provide top notch customer service and have great attention to detail like always washing my car when I bring it in for an oil change or service.  How could they allow this jar to be displayed with the person who is supposed to be the ‘face’ of their business?



Shame on management for not immediately removing this jar.  And I suppose shame on me for not having the balls to tell the lady how offensive her jar is to me as a repeat customer of this dealership.  So blogging about it is my own little passive-aggressive way of making my point known:



If you interact face to face with customers, you should NEVER have  derogatory ANYTHING in plain site where a customer can see it.



Believe me, I know customers can be a pain in the ass.  I worked in retail far too long to appreciate how dumb and irritating the general public can be—especially  when something doesn’t go their way.  I keenly recall wearing an awful button from my days at Lechmere that read, ‘The Customer Is You!” to demonstrate that our retail establishment was all about catering to our valued customers.  Mind you, I hated every minute of wearing the button because it made me feel like a second-class citizen in the land of retail.  But I wore my flair because I knew if it wasn’t for the customers, I wouldn’t have a job that allowed me to go bring home a minimum wage paycheck that would later be blown at Newbury Comics.



Now that I’m a full fledged adult who can spend her money anywhere on anything, I find myself being exceptionally particular to the retail establishments that get my business.  I realize that little jar shouldn’t be that much of a big deal to me, but it bothers me only because the message it is sending directly conflicts with the overall positive experience I always get at my dealership.  Maybe next time I see the jar, I’ll have the nerve to speak up and tell the cashier how deeply it offends me.  But then again, I can also see myself walking away with a self-satisfied grin on my dopey face while the cashier reaches into her pocket and adds another quarter to her “Ashes of Problem Customers” jar.



Maybe I should just keep my big mouth shut.