Look at All the Singles, Ladies

Hubby and his brother had a Geek Sale, um, I mean, a Collectibles Sale last week. This is basically a high-end yard sale in which if someone offered them a quarter for an action figure, the neighborhood would have heard a deafening, “Hells to the NO!” After 30 years of collecting what I lovingly refer to as clutter, they finally decided to go through all of their Star Wars, action figures, baseball cards, comic books and other crap-that-takes-up-precious-space-in-my-basement. Praise the Nerd Gods.

In preparation for this highly organized sale of childhood memories, Hubby asked me to go to the bank and get 100 singles so that he had enough money to make change. After the sale (which was quite successful, but we still had a lot of that change left), we had 91 singles. I had 3 choices: hit the local strip joint, go to the bank and trade them in for bigger bills, or just use them.

Guess what I chose? After long deliberation, I decided to not spend the evening shoving bills in some guy’s G-string. I also was too lazy to go back to the bank. So, there I was left with 91 singles.

In the past 2 weeks, I have been given a curious and suspicious eye by several people in Target and Shop Rite after paying for a few $20 orders in all singles. During one checkout, when I pulled out a $5 bill in those singles, I announced, “Well, look at that! Someone tipped BIG!” The lady behind me in Target didn’t find that as funny as I did.

And then there was the guy at the gas station. He was ready to ask me on a date when I paid him in all singles. I pressed the pedal to the metal faster than Danica Patrick before gas guy tried to pump more than my gas.

Alas, my faux stripper days have come to an end. With only about 6 singles left, it really wouldn’t have the same impact. Instead of being known as the stripper mom in town, I’d just be the stripper mom who makes no money, and that is not a reputation I want.

Twilight Zone: Target Episode

I dropped Monkey Man off at his Science Summer Enrichment class yesterday morning then headed right to Target. There is not much that can be accomplished in detail during a 1 hour and 30 minute class (with a 10 minute drive home then back to school) that is actually shortened to about 1 hour and 10 minutes. You see, his session is supposed to start AT 9:45 a.m. However, by the time the first session comes into the cafeteria, eats their snack and they announce the second session, it’s about 9:55. His session is supposed to end at 11:15, but when I arrive at 11:13, parents are walking their children through the parking lot, having signed them out already. So basically, I hit Target down the road, or the dreaded Shop Rite, or I walk the dog for 30 minutes when it’s not 9,000 degrees like it was today.

But really, that all has little to do with my Twilight Zone experience yesterday, other than it occurred at Target. During my quick trip to pick just a few things up, I stopped by the women’s workout wear. After looking at a tank top that I really didn’t need, I turned back to my cart to head to the check out. When I looked down at my cart, it WAS NOT MY CART. Holy $&#! What the F%#@ happened to MY cart? This cart was filled with toys and stuff that looked like an employee was stocking shelves. This cart did not have my striped bag, waffles, paper towels, Morningstar fake buffalo wings and Hubby’s new bathing suit.

Panic set in. Although I knew this was not my cart, I started looking through the stuff thinking maybe my things were underneath all this crap, as if this nonsense had fallen from the great Target Heavens on top of my stuff. Nope. Definitely not my stuff. So I took off like a lunatic through Target for one reason – Monkey Man’s brand-new iTouch was in my purse. The iTouch that he purchased after saving for months. The iTouch that I have told him if he loses it, breaks it, so much as scratches it, it’s done, over, finished. My kid was totally going to kill me. Forget the fact that I would also have no way to pick up my child who was just two miles away because, oh yeah, in addition to his coveted iTouch, my car keys were in my bag. And my wallet, which was not a huge deal in the cash department, but a gigantic deal in the “I’m now going to have to spend hours calling all the companies linked to my credit card” department.

As I raced through the aisles retracing my steps, I saw mom after mom look at me, probably thinking I was looking for my lost kid. I guess the fact that I wasn’t yelling someone’s name made it appear otherwise, but I’m sure I looked pretty panicked and crazed. I could not find one Target employee, but when I made my way to the front of the store, hey, look! They were ALL up there, clapping and cheering and having some kind of Target Orgy.

I ran up to one of them and explained my situation. I am pretty sure he thought I lost my mind, and honestly, I was thinking I did, too. He had another employee announce on her walkie talkie my situation, asking if anyone mistakenly took a customer’s cart. That answer was a big fat no due to the fact that every single employee was involved in some weird tribal dance by the registers. I’m all for “Go Team Go” but c’mon people, there is an iTouch out there and a 6 year-old who’s gonna have me sleeping with the fishes!

I ran back through the store one more time while some of the Target natives tried to help me. And there, by kitchen appliances, I saw my striped bag peeking out at me. And then my waffles. And all my other stuff. Quick check through the bag – WHEW. iTouch – check! Cash – check! Credit card – check!

I found my original Target contact and let him know I found it. Then I paid at a register that was all the way on the opposite end of where the Target posse was still hanging out – seriously, there had to be about 20 of them – because I was a bit embarrassed that this could have been my early dementia setting in.

And on my way out, Rod Serling, dressed in a red polo and khakis, thanked me for visiting Target and suggested I stop by again.

Cue Twilight Zone theme…