A Time Out for Target

I planned to purchase a slow cooker, crockpot in the original English, for Eddie’s apartment this afternoon. Before leaving the house, I checked for reviews and evaluations on a consumer website. To no surprise, Hamilton Beach (the brand that we currently own) and Rival (the original manufacturer of this appliance) garnered the best ratings.

Sidebar. My parents purchased a Rival crockpot for me when I graduated from library school in the summer of 1975. (The first one became available to the general public in 1971. ) After using at least three replacement models, I’m convinced that the original Rival is the best of the lot. The Hamilton Beach version we have now, for example, has its temperature control set too high. Whenever a recipe calls for a 6-hour cooking time on “low”, I turn the dial down to “warm” for the last two hours. Liquids never bubbled in old Rival, but they’ll do so after four hours on “low” with the Hamilton Beach. Manufacturers always have to tinker with their products. They can’t, as they say, leave well enough alone.

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

After browsing Target’s inventory, I selected a standard-design 7-quart Rival mode – no temperature probe, no clip-tight gasket lid – on sale for $29. ($11 off the regular price. I’d also selected a four-pack of Hanes boxer briefs for $10.) Plus I noticed a sign on the front door that proclaimed, Use your Target red card and automatically get 5% off.

I hadn’t used my Target Visa card in months, but I figured what the hell.

“It won’t accept your card,” the cashier informed me about ten seconds after I swiped my card. “Why don’t you try it again.”

Same result.

“Maybe there’s not enough on the balance,” she offered.

“I haven’t used this card in awhile,” I said. “There’s nothing on it right now.”

“Is it expired?”

“No, it’s good through May of 2013,” I replied, holding up the card as if showing my ID.

She shrugged, as if not sure what to do next.

“Do you think I could still get the discount, considering I’m using the card in good faith?” I asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

“I can’t authorize that. Do you want to talk with a manager?”

I said I did, even though, as I noticed out of the corner of my left eye, at least three people behind me waiting to make purchases.

I always pick the wrong line, I’m sure they were all bemoaning, slowing working themselves up to a higher level of frustration.

As I was also doing.

Picking up their “vibe”, I started to chime in and silently berate myself

If you were one of those people waiting, you’d be seething with impatience by now, calling the person holding up the line a loser, or worse, thinking ‘just pay the extra two dollars, Gomer, and move on!’

The cashier had barely explained the situation when the manager, a fleshy 20-something with a dark, thick helmet of hair, interrupted her, turned to me, and blurted out, “We can’t help you with that here. We don’t have access to the records.”

He made a “what can you do” motion with his hands for emphasis.

I would have preferred to hear something to the effect, “Let me take you to the customer service desk and see what we can do for you,” with an arm extended to point me in the right direction.

At this point, I felt like Ralph Kramden in one of his “bang….zoom….right in the kisser” attitudes. Not a happy customer.

Back in the car, I pulled out my Target card again and studied the front side of it.

Cardholder since 03/98.

Valid thru 05/13.

Obviously not a “valued” cardholder, I thought.

I called the toll-free customer-service number, and the woman who took my call confirmed that my account had been closed. The reason? I hadn’t charged anything in more than a year.

“Guess that must have been somewhere in the fine print,” I said, trying to make light of the matter. “Does this mean I have to go through the whole process again?”

Of applying for a card. I assumed she knew what I was getting at.

She turned up the brightness in her voice a notch, explaining that I’d be able to get a “temporary” card. Which is what, apparently, I had all along.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just go elsewhere,” I concluded and hit the “end call” button on my iPhone screen.

Goodbye, Target. Hello, Shopko.

At least for the time being. Target deserves a time out.