But once in the store with my shopping cart, I find it enough of a struggle just to get four chairs through checkout (the legs took down a credit card swipe machine, a rack of magazines and breath mints). I arrive at the pedestrian crossing in the parking lot, but now the chairs begin to fall and the cart goes into a death spin.
Pickups go by, their drivers somewhat irritated that I chose the crosswalk for shopping cart drama. No one offers to help. Finally, I arrive at the Mustang. Don’t bother with the trunk. It’s barely holds groceries. I try the passenger side—seat reclining, all the way forward. There is no way these chairs will go in the car.
Within 15 minutes, I am at customer service with my receipt in hand. What, an exchange already? Yes. The chairs don’t fit in my trunk, and the store does not deliver. Do you want us to hold them for you? No!
Six weeks later, my sister plans a visit in her van. Cargo van, did you say? She offers to meet me at Target but tells me not to get there too early. She’s still on I-95.
The Target checkout line is moving slowly. Once again, the chairs are in a precarious balance in the cart. I don’t want them to fall on the turbulent children behind me or the lady from Norway in front. The cashier seems oblivious to my plight and wants to welcome the foreigner to American soil. Please, no small talk now. Because the chairs will take out your swipe machine and breath mints and possibly the foreign lady too.
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