I decided I needed to get outside today. The sky had cleared. The sun had begun to poke through the clouds. The temperature had risen to a balmy 54 degrees. I had no excuse to stay indoors.
Oh, but my cold had more or less vanquished my voice. And, what little I had left sounded alternately like Mark Lanegan and James Earl Jones. Cool to mumble song lyrics and Star Wars quotes to, but not good for much else.
Because of this, I couldn't go anywhere which involved speaking. So, no restaurants for lunch with chatty waitresses, no library interaction, no shopping.
We had a lemon of a humidifier to return to Target. I thought about it. If I went, I'd have to interact with humans, but most likely not speak. Really, it would be simple enough. All I'd need to do was hand it to customer service, get my receipt, and be on my way.
So I got into the car and headed out.
Now, it should be noted that I do not understand Target. Literally. The concept of the store baffles me. I can enter a Target and walk around the store a good two or three times before coming across what I'm looking for. This has always happened to me. I am, for lack of a better term, a Target Reject. To me, "Target" is the absolute last name I would give such an establishment. "Elusive Objects Building" would be more apt.
Regardless, the humidifier had to be returned, so I pulled into the massive parking lot and made my way inside. The line at customer service was short and, before long, I found myself handing over the bum unit to the attendant. I smiled, hoping I wouldn't have to say anything. The man, however, just stared at me. I had to talk. So I tried to explain, in a deep, broken baritone, that the chunk of plastic was useless.
"This- humidif- jus- didn- do- anythi-," I managed, the counter vibrating from the pitch escaping my voice box. I think the customer service rep thought I was putting him on a bit, as if the unit was so bad that my insides dried and I lost my voice. I didn't feel like explaining to him my run-in with germy two-year-olds on Thursday. He asked if I wanted to return the funds on my credit card. I shook my head "no."
"My- wife- card-."
I pointed to the store credit cards in front of the register. I felt like Lassie, trying to draw the humans to Timmy trapped in the well.
"You want a store credit?" he asked.
I nodded happily.
He processed the unit, scanned a card, and handed it over. I smiled and mouthed "thank you."
At that moment, I should have just walked back to the car. But, against better judgement, I decided to look for another humidifier instead. The hunt began.
I am your typical male. I do not ask for assistance or directions. This is not because I think I know everything, but rather because I feel bad interrupting someone to ask for help. Silly, I know, but true.
So, I started lap one. I made my way past electronics, toys, camping, and into the small appliances. To little surprise, the humidifiers were not there. That would have been far too easy. I pressed onward, past holiday decorations, groceries, and school supplies. I dodged Rascal riding grandmas, children, and stressed mothers. I ended up at the pharmacy, then the registers, my starting point.
My strategy had to change. As I began lap two, I decided the best option would be to walk down each aisle. That way, nothing could escape my glance. And, sure enough, I found the humidifiers. They were in a makeshift "heater/humidifier" section in the automotive department (of course!). Sadly, there wasn't much for options. I ended up taking the one that looked the coolest.
I did not say anything to the clerk that rang me up at the registers. I brought the new humidifier to the car and drove home. Now, I only hope the thing works. Though, if it doesn't, I at least have an idea as to where to look for a replacement.
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