The Point of No Returns

We don’t have an overabundance of sunny days in Seattle, so when the sun does appear, I begin to think of my sun-deprived garden. I live in a small town with several large “we have everything” stores. I have to decide whether I am going to resume my nursing duties and buy wilted plants from the large “we have everything” store, or go to the plant boutique where the plants are well-nourished but more expensive. My plant nursing duties date back to my days as “Nurse Ratchitt”: if I can nurse a recuperating patient, then I can certainly nurse a few plants, so I decide on the cheaper option.

Before you can say, “Water me please!” I have a cart-load of plants. I can hardly wait to get home and get my hands dirty. My daughter Lexi trails along behind me with weak explanations about homework and hunger, but I cheerfully blather on about the various flowering plants.

Lexi grows impatient with my yammering and dawdling, and takes control of the cart to wait in line at the checkout counter. I try to wait in line with her but keep dodging back and forth to look at just one more aisle of plants. She does not budge out of the line, even after our cart is full and I give her a few plants to carry.

The cashier begins to tally our order; I notice from her uniform that she enjoyed something red and green for lunch. The green bits in her teeth are very distracting, and I can barely concentrate.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I should count all of my $4.99 pots, as she doesn’t seem to be playing with a full deck. The manager interrupts her to empty her till, which diverts her attention away from my cart. She is obviously an O.T.P. or a “one trick pony” as my cousin has so aptly named me when it comes to my driving dyslexia.  Anyway, she begins to enter the prices of the plants into the cash register AGAIN. I glance at Lexi, who just shakes her head. I hesitate to disturb green teeth as she does not respond well to interruption, and there is the all-too-real possibility that she will tally my order for a third time! When she is nearly finished doubling my cart order, I point out that her count is a bit off. She expresses grave concerns about this, and tells me she can not stop until the transaction is complete. Fair enough.

The transaction is complete and I have twenty pots of $4.99 plants at $4.99 each on my bill. My cart has ten $4.99 plants and a few other odds and ends. She expresses dismay at her faulty fingering of the cash register. I smile and say magnanimously:

“Everyone makes mistakes; you can just refund me the money or credit my charge card.”

She does not blink an eye, but solemnly looks at me and says the return policy at the store is not good for customers. These are her exact words; I am glad for her sake that the manager is not within hearing distance.

“You will have to go the customer service desk for your refund.”

“What, are you sure? Why can’t you just give me the money or better yet, call the manager and he/she will give me my money?”

“Sorry, this is the only way to get your money.”

I leave my cart loaded with all of the plants and quickly walk to the customer service desk, which is far away. There is only one older gentlewoman in line. I stand behind her and wait; at some point the older gentlewomen turns around and gives me a very bad look. Perhaps I am invading her personal space or maybe she does not want me to see her return. Elastic waist polyester pants are not my style but I am sure she will look very fetching in them. I wait while the woman discusses the merits of different colors of polyester pants; the line piles up to four people. It is a restless line, I fully expect a shoving match to start. Another cashier at the same counter eats her lunch and rings her fellow cashier’s purchases up. Suddenly, the other lunch-eating cashier looks up and acts surprised. She seems to be thinking, where have all of these people come from and what do they want?

The old lady with the polyester pants leaves, and I explain in very few words the confusion in the plant department.

“I understand this is where I come to retrieve my refund for a mistake that is not my fault.” (I don’t really say that last bit, but I want to.)

 “No, you can get your refund in the plant department.”

 “The plant department cashier told me that I can only get a refund at the customer SERVICE desk” (Dude, this is not my problem, and let the plant lady know she has green stuff in her teeth.) Again, this is what I want to say, but I politely refrain.

The cashier and the lunch-eating cashier exchange whispers and one of them make a lengthy phone call to the plant department cashier. Maybe they are talking about what they had for lunch, I don’t know.

Lexi makes a loud comment about the inefficiency of the plant department cashier. She does not feel the need to be polite, unlike her sappy mother. I tell her to be quiet, everyone makes mistakes. Maybe it is green tooth’s first day on the job as cashier.

The cashier in customer service gives us our money back and apologizes.  I find there is a long line in the plant section and catch her eye and give her the universal thumbs up sign. In retrospect, I have come to the conclusion that dependable customer service and non-wilted plants are worth the extra expense. The old saying of, “You get what you pay for!” comes to mind.

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Shawn Underwood, a native Washingtonian, writes humorous anecdotes for newspapers and magazines.   If you are a member of the media or would like to use a story, please email Shawn.

View a list of all Shawn's stories online.