Cost Plus World Market and The Temple of Duh
I saunter into a festive Cost Plus World Market bursting with Christmasy possibilities. No specific item in mind. A jaunty commuter mug. A colorful package of finger traps. A bottle of Merlot from Texas. A... What is this? I loft a plain hip flask my eye. My son coos his approval. This shall be mine. Take that Christmas. Another gift is checked. There is only one problem. It doesn't have a SKU or price or identity. None, on the shelf. One by one they fail and fall from my eye. It's as though these items exist outside of Cost Plus or maybe in an alt Cost Plus. Loki?
I go to the Very Helpful Man, "Hello, there is no SKU (pronounced skew) on any of these (holding hip flask in right hand; 15 month old is on my shoulders but secured with my left hand) could you look up the price?"
Very Helpful Man is flummoxed. He takes the flask as if it were plutonium. He looks the item over. And once again. Over under. Then sidewards rotations.
I point out, "There are no skews on any of them (smile). Are they the same price as the other ones (with a skull) on the shelf?"
We move like ninjas with an infant to the hip flask and novelty drink shaker section. The look of confusion is thick on my helper-man's face. He grabs another flask. Looks to the bottom. Rotates the flask end over end over end. Stops.
"There are no skews on any of them," I say in a smiley happy tone.
My son is checking out a cute 2 year old girl that smiled at him. He is putting on his coy boy face. This would be cute if not for the escalating ennui... No, no. Wrong word.. fear, dread, drive thru... I'll get back to you.
The flasks, all of them, are now being inspected with an caution and awe that I've rarely seen in retail. This obviously has NEVER happened before. SKU's don't just walk away. With enough rotation perhaps it will de-cloak or maybe it is on the other bottom. An Nth dimensional one.
The Very Helpful Man needs to ponder the 'Mystery of the Invisible SKU'. He moves to the great Book of Prices and SKU's. He needs space. I shall give it to him because he has been very good to me, "The boy and I are just going to look around. We'll be in this area (pointy, point)."
Five minutes pass. I round the corner with the boy on my shoulders. The Very Helpful Man appears to be sad. The papers of his carefully maintained book are akimbo. His hair tousled. Eyes; red rimed. Tears streaming down his face. He holds a cheese knife to his tender mid-section, "I have failed you. Only death can relieve my dishonor and this coupon for 10% off anything in kitchen section." The knife opens his once private world to the public. He had a cheese sandwich for lunch.
"I'm sorry haven't found it yet.", he says with a smile.
Okay, I embellished after the paper part.
"That's cool. We're going to look over here (pointy point, point) for a moment."
We move off. The boy is now running some type of commentary while on my shoulders. Maybe he's pooped his pantaloons. Maybe it's a love sonnet to the two year old with the home cut, but oh so cute, bangs. I don't know. He's only 15 months and can't speak and he doesn't smell poopie. Yet I feel that even he knows that there is no SKU on the items in question.
We return after a fascinating detour through the Isle of Misfit and Broken Christmas Items.
Maybe Emily will like half a cookie jar?
"Hey. Sorry about that. It's $4.99. But there isn't an SKU."
"Egads! Is that what the problem was? MYSTERY SOLVED! The Fancy Boys and the Mystery... It was Old Man Jenkins..." This of course is internal dialogue. I smile. He takes it as a good job. I leave it at that.
"Go up to the counter and tell them that it's $4.99 as per NEXT TIER BOSS," he smiles and hands me the item.
I look at his name tag. He's done a masterful job of detecting for me and he should be rewarded. He has a great Latino name. One that should be dancing rather than working at Cost Plus.
"So, I shouldn't use your name?"
"No."He smiles, "I'm just the underling."
"Okay. Thank you."
The guy uses a multi-syllabic word and assumes that he will not be praised along with his Next Tier Boss who pulled this mystical number from the either. Oh, no. Your rewards will be great. I give credit. I take the Names of the Helpful and send them to Santa. No Isle of Misfit Thingies for you my friend. The world shall know. Smooth sailing now. Onward.
Chapter Two: The Check Out of Despair
The eight or nine customers with their collective carts of gifts wear masks of pain that harken back to Dante and his journey to return a toaster in Hell. I thought Christmas was supposed to be happy? Maybe they are Jewish? Muslim? Nope. Just shopping. Maybe they are feeling judged by their choice of presents.
Baby Jesus, "So my loyal worshipers, what did you get me for my birthday?"
Customer, "I have brought for you the finest scented candles. Made in China."
Customer two, "I have these fine hot dogs and a bottle of Merlot."
Customer three, "And low. I have this half a cookie jar, brought from the Isle of Misfit and Broken Christmas Items. Half off."
Baby Jesus, jaw and eyes wide.
Me, "Happy Birthday Jesus."
I'll work on the dialogue.
"I can take you over here," says the smiley girl. The other clerks are also smiley. It's the break room water. It's vodka.
"Hey. Here (mystery gift for some one. SHH.). Here (some tea) and this item (hip flask) is $4.99 as per Next Tier Boss," I say with a smile on my face. Case closed. Check me out. Cause I'm a sexy dad with a great kid.
The hip flask gets rotated. Over and over. Sideways. "Do you know the price on this?"
"Yes. It's $4.99 as per your Next Tier Boss."
"I don't have a SKU for this." She motions to some one. Her smile dips.
"Yes. There are no skews to be found on this or any of the 'quantity x' remaining hip flasks. That's why Very Helpful Man told me to tell you that your Next Tier Boss said it was $4.99."
That should do it. Logic wins the day. Wins the day my friends. Wins. The. Day.
"Candy (not her real name, but she was sugary.), could you go see what the skew is on this?"
WHAT! REALLY? I just told you, REPEATEDLY that there is no.... "Excuse me. There are no SKU's or any identification for this item. Not on the shelf. Not on any of the remaining items like this one. Not on the items nor on their shelf. Next Tier Boss, you know, YOUR BOSS, told VERY HELPFUL MAN that it's $4.99."
"Yes. But Candy will just find out what the skew is."
Obvisously my jaw is moving but I am not speaking English. Maybe the child can do something cute to break this spell over the clerk... Child? The two year old? What? Again? Older women.
"Really, the Very Helpful Man spent 10 minutes looking for the code..."
"That's okay. I just want it for next time."
"Want what?", I ask.
"The SKU. Candy." The flask passes to other, sugary, hands.
The Red Mist of Death begins its lonely journey to the furrows of my brow. My eye; twitches. Anime hand spasm as I reach for a weapon that is not there. Anymore. It was taken by my jailers. For I have killed legions, continents, worlds for less than this, human. However I have confounded my jailers. I don't need a weapon. The Child is my weapon. The child is a killing tool. I keep him on my shoulders so that those around me may live. The child is a killing word (read Dune). I shall unleash him upon you and he will devour you soul. Then he will feast upon the Merlot and weenies. He is the Destroyer. The Toppler of that which cannot be upended and was secured with very big screws to the kitchen counter only a few days ago on Tuesday. He shall smite you. May your god have mercy. For THE CHILD shall not.
"Never mind. I've lost interest.", I mumble.
"What?", says the smiley clerk.
"It will just take a moment," says Candy.
"I don't need the flask. How much for everything else?"
I leave the Clerk, her eyes astonished her mouth a thin smile. I have displeased her. I leave knowing that my wrath will be savory and taste of Mentos.
I have won this day. For I have a blog.
I go to the Very Helpful Man, "Hello, there is no SKU (pronounced skew) on any of these (holding hip flask in right hand; 15 month old is on my shoulders but secured with my left hand) could you look up the price?"
Very Helpful Man is flummoxed. He takes the flask as if it were plutonium. He looks the item over. And once again. Over under. Then sidewards rotations.
I point out, "There are no skews on any of them (smile). Are they the same price as the other ones (with a skull) on the shelf?"
We move like ninjas with an infant to the hip flask and novelty drink shaker section. The look of confusion is thick on my helper-man's face. He grabs another flask. Looks to the bottom. Rotates the flask end over end over end. Stops.
"There are no skews on any of them," I say in a smiley happy tone.
My son is checking out a cute 2 year old girl that smiled at him. He is putting on his coy boy face. This would be cute if not for the escalating ennui... No, no. Wrong word.. fear, dread, drive thru... I'll get back to you.
The flasks, all of them, are now being inspected with an caution and awe that I've rarely seen in retail. This obviously has NEVER happened before. SKU's don't just walk away. With enough rotation perhaps it will de-cloak or maybe it is on the other bottom. An Nth dimensional one.
The Very Helpful Man needs to ponder the 'Mystery of the Invisible SKU'. He moves to the great Book of Prices and SKU's. He needs space. I shall give it to him because he has been very good to me, "The boy and I are just going to look around. We'll be in this area (pointy, point)."
Five minutes pass. I round the corner with the boy on my shoulders. The Very Helpful Man appears to be sad. The papers of his carefully maintained book are akimbo. His hair tousled. Eyes; red rimed. Tears streaming down his face. He holds a cheese knife to his tender mid-section, "I have failed you. Only death can relieve my dishonor and this coupon for 10% off anything in kitchen section." The knife opens his once private world to the public. He had a cheese sandwich for lunch.
"I'm sorry haven't found it yet.", he says with a smile.
Okay, I embellished after the paper part.
"That's cool. We're going to look over here (pointy point, point) for a moment."
We move off. The boy is now running some type of commentary while on my shoulders. Maybe he's pooped his pantaloons. Maybe it's a love sonnet to the two year old with the home cut, but oh so cute, bangs. I don't know. He's only 15 months and can't speak and he doesn't smell poopie. Yet I feel that even he knows that there is no SKU on the items in question.
We return after a fascinating detour through the Isle of Misfit and Broken Christmas Items.
Maybe Emily will like half a cookie jar?
"Hey. Sorry about that. It's $4.99. But there isn't an SKU."
"Egads! Is that what the problem was? MYSTERY SOLVED! The Fancy Boys and the Mystery... It was Old Man Jenkins..." This of course is internal dialogue. I smile. He takes it as a good job. I leave it at that.
"Go up to the counter and tell them that it's $4.99 as per NEXT TIER BOSS," he smiles and hands me the item.
I look at his name tag. He's done a masterful job of detecting for me and he should be rewarded. He has a great Latino name. One that should be dancing rather than working at Cost Plus.
"So, I shouldn't use your name?"
"No."He smiles, "I'm just the underling."
"Okay. Thank you."
The guy uses a multi-syllabic word and assumes that he will not be praised along with his Next Tier Boss who pulled this mystical number from the either. Oh, no. Your rewards will be great. I give credit. I take the Names of the Helpful and send them to Santa. No Isle of Misfit Thingies for you my friend. The world shall know. Smooth sailing now. Onward.
Chapter Two: The Check Out of Despair
The eight or nine customers with their collective carts of gifts wear masks of pain that harken back to Dante and his journey to return a toaster in Hell. I thought Christmas was supposed to be happy? Maybe they are Jewish? Muslim? Nope. Just shopping. Maybe they are feeling judged by their choice of presents.
Baby Jesus, "So my loyal worshipers, what did you get me for my birthday?"
Customer, "I have brought for you the finest scented candles. Made in China."
Customer two, "I have these fine hot dogs and a bottle of Merlot."
Customer three, "And low. I have this half a cookie jar, brought from the Isle of Misfit and Broken Christmas Items. Half off."
Baby Jesus, jaw and eyes wide.
Me, "Happy Birthday Jesus."
I'll work on the dialogue.
"I can take you over here," says the smiley girl. The other clerks are also smiley. It's the break room water. It's vodka.
"Hey. Here (mystery gift for some one. SHH.). Here (some tea) and this item (hip flask) is $4.99 as per Next Tier Boss," I say with a smile on my face. Case closed. Check me out. Cause I'm a sexy dad with a great kid.
The hip flask gets rotated. Over and over. Sideways. "Do you know the price on this?"
"Yes. It's $4.99 as per your Next Tier Boss."
"I don't have a SKU for this." She motions to some one. Her smile dips.
"Yes. There are no skews to be found on this or any of the 'quantity x' remaining hip flasks. That's why Very Helpful Man told me to tell you that your Next Tier Boss said it was $4.99."
That should do it. Logic wins the day. Wins the day my friends. Wins. The. Day.
"Candy (not her real name, but she was sugary.), could you go see what the skew is on this?"
WHAT! REALLY? I just told you, REPEATEDLY that there is no.... "Excuse me. There are no SKU's or any identification for this item. Not on the shelf. Not on any of the remaining items like this one. Not on the items nor on their shelf. Next Tier Boss, you know, YOUR BOSS, told VERY HELPFUL MAN that it's $4.99."
"Yes. But Candy will just find out what the skew is."
Obvisously my jaw is moving but I am not speaking English. Maybe the child can do something cute to break this spell over the clerk... Child? The two year old? What? Again? Older women.
"Really, the Very Helpful Man spent 10 minutes looking for the code..."
"That's okay. I just want it for next time."
"Want what?", I ask.
"The SKU. Candy." The flask passes to other, sugary, hands.
The Red Mist of Death begins its lonely journey to the furrows of my brow. My eye; twitches. Anime hand spasm as I reach for a weapon that is not there. Anymore. It was taken by my jailers. For I have killed legions, continents, worlds for less than this, human. However I have confounded my jailers. I don't need a weapon. The Child is my weapon. The child is a killing tool. I keep him on my shoulders so that those around me may live. The child is a killing word (read Dune). I shall unleash him upon you and he will devour you soul. Then he will feast upon the Merlot and weenies. He is the Destroyer. The Toppler of that which cannot be upended and was secured with very big screws to the kitchen counter only a few days ago on Tuesday. He shall smite you. May your god have mercy. For THE CHILD shall not.
"Never mind. I've lost interest.", I mumble.
"What?", says the smiley clerk.
"It will just take a moment," says Candy.
"I don't need the flask. How much for everything else?"
I leave the Clerk, her eyes astonished her mouth a thin smile. I have displeased her. I leave knowing that my wrath will be savory and taste of Mentos.
I have won this day. For I have a blog.
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