|I ran register 6 once.|
I spent six months in the hole. Six months hard labor in the rat infested factory/back-stock room will teach a man a thing or two. For instance: how to correctly shelve personal lubricants or the fastest way to hang a line of C-cupped bras without looking too much like a pervert. (A task that proved impossible for a man with soft, sensual hands and a knack for handling the delicates, such as I.)
Ah yes, working the Target front lines will put hair on a man's chest. Long, twirly hairs with red ribbons attached to the ends. In my case, I already had plenty hair on my chest, but it did put hair in other bodily crannies, including long two-inchers between my toes. In fact, I believe it was the Black Friday of '97 that I discovered my first official knuckle hair - a phenomenon that I attributed to hours of stocking leaky bottles of Rogaine (with Minoxidil).
For those out of the pearly white, linoleum loop that goes around the bathing suits - there are regular Targets and then there are SUPER DUPER Targets. My inclination at the time was to only work for the best and reach for the stars. In the interview, I told the Target boss lady that if I were to be hired by a regular Target, I'd become depressed in disengaged; both Target and my psyche would suffer. She hired me on the spot and thankfully, it was for the Super mode. It's where I belonged.
While working at Target, I developed a new, shockingly groundbreaking theory. A theory that would shake you to your very retail-lovin', paper-or-plasticky core. A theory so stupefying, so dumbfounding, so mind blowingly fantastic, a movie is being made about it staring Samuel L. Jackson and Wilford Brimly (He plays the craggy old Pharmacist).
The theory of which I speak is thus: Women... they LOVE Target.
I knew it would blow your mind.
The list of reasons why women love Target is almost assuredly longer than Schindler's but likely not as long as Santa's. I will not bore you with every tedious reason why women love Target, but I will provide the most paramount and enthralling.
1. Women love Target because it is not Walmart. I cannot underscore this reason enough; this should be reason #1 and #1a. Women loathe being seen at Walmart and brag about going to Target. There is not peopleoftarget.com; no one scoffs when you tell them you went to Target today and you are not deemed an eternal redneck of love.
I once met a woman that despised Walmart like I despise Toby Keith. She told me that she hated the place because, "I hate big box stores and everything they stand for!"
I replied, "Well, what about Target?"
Her response was quick and telling, "Yeah, Target's okay."
2. Everything in Target is so shiny, clean and clever. This is the brilliance of the place: it is almost the anti-Walmart. Target is what Walmart would dress up like if it wanted to be popular and hang out with prissy anorexic models and their yappy dogs in a abhorrently pastel, 60's themed bowling alley.
I was once in a team leader's meeting (Although I was not a leader, I was a pee-on. I have no idea why I was there.) and the powers-that-be told us that keeping the isles clear and the piped-in music off was a corporate choice that signified a new, clutter-free choice for the consumer. The overload of pastel pillows and bright lighting was a hip look that the other stores ("Other" meaning "Walmart") could not duplicate.
Translation: We don't want those rednecks, their belly-shirts, buttless jeans and cashless pockets muddling up our refined panache. Unless, of course, they pay for the panache, but that's not likely.
3. Women that shop at Target look like other women that shop at Target. They are generally attractive, or pretending to be attractive, busy looking and wearing pleated pants or classy mom shorts. They are almost always holding a cell phone and acting busier than they really are. Actually, come to think of it, these women usually look exactly like this:
|Secretly wishing the prices were like Walmart's.|
Of course, while Target is superior to Walmart (at least in the eyes of it's stylish Soccer-Mom fans), there is, on occasion, a homely, hair-feathered Walmarter that sneaks through the prosaic sliding doors. I had the misfortune of helping such a lovely, not young, BeDazzled yokel my first week on the job. Our conversation went a little something like this:
Red Vested Abe: Can I help you?
A cape for clothing lady: Yeah. You can. I am looking for the tin foil area.
Abe: It's on row 9.
|The best representation of what this woman looked like.|
Abe: I don't know. Shall we go see?
The Un-muscley Slobberface: Gonna need a lot. Need those and those zipper freezer bags. We have A LOT of uncooked meat coming our way.
Abe: Of course you do. Of course you do.