The Seeker

A Meta-Cognitive Journal About Writing… Plus Other Stuff

I’m Not Worthy

with 2 comments

Holiday shopping and savings be damned, here’s a list of things I don’t want, in no particular order of importance, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop asking me every time I come in your store:

1.  A Target REDcard, even though it will give me a 5% discount and free shipping at, not to mention Target Pharmacy Rewards.

2.  A Best Buy Rewardzone card, even though it’s free to join and I can get rewards points (and even a reward certificate!) for every dollar I spend.

3.  A Petsmart PetPerks card, even though it will get my cat a treat on her birthday and provide me with a thousand (!!) in-store discounts every day (by the way…  my cat has approved my NOT having a PetPerks card–when I asked her, she was more interested in cataloging every bit of loose string in the house than any sort of discount program).

Let's be clear about this:  We're not interested in your discount program.

Let’s be clear about this: We’re not interested in your discount program.

4.  A Walgreens Balance Rewards card, despite it being advantageously positioned at the corner of Instant Points & Endless Rewards, and the reward points I would accumulate when I find myself at said intersection (which, for whatever reason, I can’t find on Google Maps).

5.  A Carson’s Your Rewards membership, even though I could advance to the “Elite” level and be privy to exclusive cardholder savings, advance notice of events, and ultimately an upgraded credit card.

I know what you’re thinking:  How could I possibly pass up all these crazy savings and special deals available to exclusive members such as myself at your retail outlet?  All I had to do was show up and buy something–anything from a pack of gum to a toothbrush to a pair of nail clippers–and I would instantly attain some sort of preferred status that, if I’m to believe the billing, entitles me to unbelievable savings.

Here’s what I’m thinking:  I don’t really want to spend any more time in your store than I have to.  I don’t pleasure shop or window shop or case the malls or sales flyers or clip coupons to save a buck here and there.  It’s not that important to me.  What’s most important to me is spending as little time as possible in your store, and if I stop to apply for your stupendously spectacular savings scheme (which I qualify for because I have a pulse), I can feel my soul seep out of my body.

So when you ask if I’m interested in becoming a member, I always tell you, “No, thank you.”  But you relent because some corporate wag way off in a fantasy land has determined that you, the soldiers in the trenches, are the best chance to garner my personal contact information and analyze my consumer preferences so the greed mongers for whom you work can find more ways to get me in your store more often and suck my wallet dry.  So you ask again because it’s probably part of your work evaluation that you ask each customer multiple times every time you see them.

Again, I tell you, “No.”

But you don’t listen.  You ask time and time again, each time I’m in your store.  I have my limits, though, so I tell you this:  “No, thanks.  I’m not worthy.  I don’t deserve to be a part of your program.”

You look at me, usually with your head cocked to one side and your brows furrowed.

I go on:  “You don’t want me.  I conduct myself with shame and dishonor.  I make poor decisions.  I’m financially irresponsible.  People don’t like me.  In fact, I’m as asshole.  Several other retailers have allowed me to become part of their extravagant bonus programs but rescinded their kindness because I’m such a complete fool.  I would only bring shame and dishonor to your company, and that might come back on you since you signed me up for your program.  I will accept the consequences for my actions, but I won’t have you suffering.  Believe me, I’m more concerned about you.  But thanks for asking.”

This works.  It eases the burden of bleak social interactions born from relentless consumerism by letting me tell your company and those faceless corporate wags in far-off fantasy land to STFU and let me finish my transactions and get out of your store without slowing my departure by peddling your fake discount programs.  What’s more, if your supervisor overhears or witnesses this, he gets to see how asinine some people think your discount program is, and how annoyed some people get when you constantly pester them about it, and he can commend you for how effectively you handled a disgruntled customer who might even be deranged.  It’s a win-win situation.

Sometimes these antics bring a smile to your face, and sometimes, like at Petsmart the other day, you say, “No problem.  I’ll let you use my account.”  You swipe your card (you have a card because enrolling in the program was probably mandatory once you were hired), and I get the discount you were offering without ever having to become an official dignitary.

So why did you ask me in the first place?

Written by seeker70

December 10, 2012 at 9:49 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

2 Responses

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  1. Merry Christmas!

    Lauri Keagle

    December 11, 2012 at 11:10 am

  2. […] the cashier asked me if I had the local “savings card.”  I didn’t launch into my typical routine, but instead told her I wasn’t from Iowa City, or even Iowa for that matter.  She looked at […]

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