I love shopping, most of it, especially of the non-food variety.  Whether it’s fashion or food, bringing a list or having a specific goal like new jeans or a dozen eggs used to be enough to feel armed and ready to hit the bricks.  Any more, it seems shopping resembles a battlefield, a multi-front war. It takes strategy and pre-planning because one never knows what will be thrown in the aisle or at the storefront.  Offers to save money or save the world hit you like an unexpected rainstorm.  And if you have a tendency to be weak or tenderhearted, like myself, this adds stress to something that should be fun. I empathize with these “sales” people because I used to sell too and I know the feeling of rejection.  A person like me really needs hassle-free shopping, for my own consumer safety.

Guess this deal?

The battle that grates on my ears more than fighting siblings happens at checkout. “Would you like to save 5% today?”  A simple “no thank you” makes it sound like third grade math never clicked or perhaps the question was misheard or English is a second or third language.  We say it anyway, or at least I say it anyway.  I know it sounds like I was born yesterday, but I want to nip it in the bud and be done with it.  Sometimes the clerk looks at me like I’m leaving “huge” amounts of cash on the table.  “Really?”  Unless I’m buying a car, yes, really, I can live without five or ten bucks.   Can we just be direct without making us both look ridiculous?  Just ask if I want a credit card built to save instead of this thinly veiled bait.

I’m probably too nice.  Geez, the poor cashiers are just doing what they were trained to do even if someone is putting crazy words into their mouths.  I”ve tried to be really honest and blame it all on my husband.  It’s so old century and makes me look even more like I failed third grade math.  In our house, my husband pays the bills and I’m thrilled not to have this job and I’m willing to admit it in public.  “Ah, you see, my husband doesn’t want to pay all those credit card bills.  One is enough.  I know we are missing deals.  What ya gonna do?”  They sympathize but it’s kind of TMI and the training didn’t really cover the husband scapegoat scenario, so the simple answer is best.  And it’s polite.

My husband on the other hand REALLY cuts to the chase and just says sharply, “I don’t’ want another credit card.”  Ok, let’s just identify the elephant and blast the poor thing out of the building.  Hope nobody follows him into the parking lot.

Gads, I really don’t want to get too personal and explain our credit card philosophy or the repercussions of owning too many credit cards.  Added weight to a wallet and weight on your credit rating, are not worth the savings.  Let’s not forget the extra check or online click for the bill-payer.  And it’s a double-whammy if the new card isn’t on the same cycle as all the other bills.  It gets overlooked and the “great deal” turns punitive and expensive, just what the department store is hoping. Hence, my back-pocket weapon:  husband = bill payer + hardship.  This creates an empathy shield and saves face for both the shopper and the cashier.

Shopping Armor.

Truthfully, I just want to shop and make all my tough decisions over which blue sweater to buy, the killer deal or killer look.  I want the cashier to tell me I made a great decision on my purchase.  “Hassle free shopping while shopping!”  There should be a law about the amount of distance between a shopper and a credit-card-offering employee, like the grocery stores.  Thank goodness enough complained about the petitioners gathering signatures or charities seeking donations three feet from the front door.  I shop early to avoid the angst of exiting the store.   Professional petitioners or charity collectors sleep in, exhausting work I imagine.  But if I miss my window of opportunity, I will whip on the dark glasses and walk, or run really, like I’m in too big of a hurry and can’t really hear them.  Or maybe I’ll say, “Got kids to pick up!”  Man, I didn’t realize how much mileage a “kid” excuse could get you.  Nobody will deny a child.  They don’t have to know pick up is at 3 pm and it’s only 11 am.

Ammunition.

A couple of times I tried to be polite, only to get sucked into a conversation we had to end with a wave of the hand by both parties because we just couldn’t get our points across.  One guy was collecting for the homeless.  I tried to just say “hi” and “we give through our church or at the office”.  Then I got, “which church and what organizations and how do I get on that list.”  It’s not like I’m opposed to helping out, but I just want to shop without the sideshows.  I want to know more about where I’m giving and make sure it’s the right choice for me, something I feel good about.  Our family does our part, but as often as I see these people, I would become one of their clients if I gave every time.  Thus, the call to don the dark glasses and sprint away.

With the mega-shopping season upon us, I will be planning my battlefront strategy as the department stores and grocers are arming their soldiers and planting them at every corner.  At minimum, I’ll pack dark sunglasses and wear super sneaks.  I’ll practice my passing response, “Kids.  Pick-up. Thanks.”  And lastly, to celebrate the season and ease my tender heart, I’ll toss a few coins in my pocket for the bell ringers, a small and easy gesture. This I can and should do.