Nate Briggs's Blog - Posts Tagged "walmart"
Sunday Literary Life: April 23
One of the big scenes I had in mind for Alfie was crisp, yet funny, yet emotionally charged conversation somewhere in a big discount store. Not Walmart, of course. Who could think about Romance in a place like that? It’s bright – it’s cutthroat – it’s penny pinching. It’s mildly disgusting. And you don’t find yourself among a good class of people.
Target seemed more of a contender. Lower lighting. Less acreage. More a sense that you’re shopping. And less a sense that you’re being turned upside and shaken to get all the money out of your pockets.
My inevitable conclusion was that my star-crossed lovers should have their decisive meeting at Target.
With that in mind, I decided to give my local store a call to get some valuable background*:
Her: ‘This is Target Customer Service, how may I direct your call?’
Me: ‘I wanted to ask about crying in your store.’
Her: ‘What? Excuse me?’
Me: ‘What happens if someone is crying in your store? I’m thinking in one of the changing rooms.’
Her: ‘You mean: someone is crying now? In this store? In the changing room?’
Me: ‘No. Just as a general policy. What if two people are in one of the changing rooms—’
Her: ‘We don’t really encourage—’
Me: ‘—a man and a woman—‘
Her: ‘—probably illegal—‘
Me: ‘—and one of them is crying. You know: really wailing away. Not so you can hear it all over the store. But let’s say half the store.’
Her: ‘What half of the store? What are you trying to tell me? Is there something going on in the store? Do they have a gun? Do you have a gun?’
Me: ‘No — there’s no crisis—’
Her: ‘Then why are you talking about this? Are you in our store?’
Me: ‘No — just calling from home.’
Her: ‘How do you know there’s someone crying in the store if you aren’t here?’
Me: ‘I don’t think there is anyone crying in the store. This is all hypothetical.’
Her: ‘So something to do with drugs?’
Me: ‘Not hypodermic. Just imagining. Just thinking about how that might happen.’
Her: ‘Why would that ever happen?’
Me: ‘Because someone would see someone and want to say something to them — and then the other person wouldn’t want to hear it — and so she would go into the dressing room—’
Her: ‘Why not run out of the store?’
Me: ‘She’s not thinking straight.’
Her: ‘Well…obviously. So they’re not having sex. Or are they?’
Me: ‘No — they’re just talking.’
Her: ‘And why is she crying?’
Me: ‘Just because.’
Her: ‘And he doesn’t have a gun?’
Me: ‘No. Nothing like that.’
Her: ‘And she doesn’t have a gun?’
Me: ‘Neither of them has a gun. He’s just come back to town to tell her that he’s always loved her, and he wants to marry her.’
Her: ‘And she’s crying about that?’
Me: ‘In the dressing room.’
Her: ‘They couldn’t go out to the parking lot, like normal people?’
Me: ‘The dressing room is where it’s happening, in my mind.
Her: ‘In your mind?
Me: ‘But would you let that happen?’
Her: ‘That’s the manager’s job. It’s not my job.’
Me: ‘But you wouldn’t call the cops?’
Her: ‘It takes them forever to get here. Probably not, if there weren’t any guns around.’
Me: ‘How long would you let them stay in there?’
Her: ‘The cops?’
Me: ‘The people talking.’
Her: ‘Not very long.’
Me: ‘How about if one of them gave you fifty bucks not to care that much?’
Her: ‘I could not care more for a hundred bucks?’
Me: ‘How much would you not care for a hundred bucks?’
Her: ‘Til they were done.’
Me: ‘OK. That’s helpful. Thanks for your time.’
Her: ‘Thank you for calling Target! But talk to someone else next time!’
Target seemed more of a contender. Lower lighting. Less acreage. More a sense that you’re shopping. And less a sense that you’re being turned upside and shaken to get all the money out of your pockets.
My inevitable conclusion was that my star-crossed lovers should have their decisive meeting at Target.
With that in mind, I decided to give my local store a call to get some valuable background*:
Her: ‘This is Target Customer Service, how may I direct your call?’
Me: ‘I wanted to ask about crying in your store.’
Her: ‘What? Excuse me?’
Me: ‘What happens if someone is crying in your store? I’m thinking in one of the changing rooms.’
Her: ‘You mean: someone is crying now? In this store? In the changing room?’
Me: ‘No. Just as a general policy. What if two people are in one of the changing rooms—’
Her: ‘We don’t really encourage—’
Me: ‘—a man and a woman—‘
Her: ‘—probably illegal—‘
Me: ‘—and one of them is crying. You know: really wailing away. Not so you can hear it all over the store. But let’s say half the store.’
Her: ‘What half of the store? What are you trying to tell me? Is there something going on in the store? Do they have a gun? Do you have a gun?’
Me: ‘No — there’s no crisis—’
Her: ‘Then why are you talking about this? Are you in our store?’
Me: ‘No — just calling from home.’
Her: ‘How do you know there’s someone crying in the store if you aren’t here?’
Me: ‘I don’t think there is anyone crying in the store. This is all hypothetical.’
Her: ‘So something to do with drugs?’
Me: ‘Not hypodermic. Just imagining. Just thinking about how that might happen.’
Her: ‘Why would that ever happen?’
Me: ‘Because someone would see someone and want to say something to them — and then the other person wouldn’t want to hear it — and so she would go into the dressing room—’
Her: ‘Why not run out of the store?’
Me: ‘She’s not thinking straight.’
Her: ‘Well…obviously. So they’re not having sex. Or are they?’
Me: ‘No — they’re just talking.’
Her: ‘And why is she crying?’
Me: ‘Just because.’
Her: ‘And he doesn’t have a gun?’
Me: ‘No. Nothing like that.’
Her: ‘And she doesn’t have a gun?’
Me: ‘Neither of them has a gun. He’s just come back to town to tell her that he’s always loved her, and he wants to marry her.’
Her: ‘And she’s crying about that?’
Me: ‘In the dressing room.’
Her: ‘They couldn’t go out to the parking lot, like normal people?’
Me: ‘The dressing room is where it’s happening, in my mind.
Her: ‘In your mind?
Me: ‘But would you let that happen?’
Her: ‘That’s the manager’s job. It’s not my job.’
Me: ‘But you wouldn’t call the cops?’
Her: ‘It takes them forever to get here. Probably not, if there weren’t any guns around.’
Me: ‘How long would you let them stay in there?’
Her: ‘The cops?’
Me: ‘The people talking.’
Her: ‘Not very long.’
Me: ‘How about if one of them gave you fifty bucks not to care that much?’
Her: ‘I could not care more for a hundred bucks?’
Me: ‘How much would you not care for a hundred bucks?’
Her: ‘Til they were done.’
Me: ‘OK. That’s helpful. Thanks for your time.’
Her: ‘Thank you for calling Target! But talk to someone else next time!’
