It began as one frantically stressful day. The company I work for (in its usual stroke of marketing genius) had broken ads for two different sales, in two different ad slicks running simultaneously with another promotion we had already been offering. Get the picture? This is a small community with a huge demographic of seniors on fixed incomes. Mix that in with a generous influx of winter snowbirds (who have nothing better to do), and the shoppers come out in droves.
The company had recently run a promotion where "your age is your discount," and I was obliged to give product to a 100-year-old man. Can you say "corporate stupidity," boys and girls? But I digress...
For six hours I detailed the parameters and exclusions of each promotion trying to determine the customers' best deals. My fingers flew and my calculator fairly smoked with percentages and computations.
"The ad doesn't say that," I heard often.
"That's why it says 'see associate for details,'" I countered repeatedly.
"Seems like bait-and-switch to me," a few grumbled.
After six breakless hours of this, I was ready for a tall glass of wine and Jimmy Buffett singing about "one particular harbor." Don't get me wrong--I am the consummate, glass-half-full kind of gal, and an extreme extrovert. But six hours of smiling and letting comments roll off my shoulders had taken its toll. When my relief coworker arrived at 4:00, I fled. All I wanted was to kick off my shoes and escape with Jimmy.
But I had to stop for that gallon of milk at the local big box store. And as I cruised by the dairy cases, I realized they had yogurt on special. Double coup--I just happened to have a coupon for 50 cents off six yogurts. So I picked up a case of eight, feeling pretty smug. That is, until I got to the checkout.
"This coupon isn't good on the cases," declared the surly checkout clerk.
"Why not?" I countered.
"It only shows the individual serving cups on the coupon," she argued.
"I don't see where it says that anywhere."
She quickly finished the transaction, giving me the brush-off, and I slunk to the door with my tail between my legs.
I sat in the car, replaying the scene in my mind. Shoulda told her I didn't want the damn yogurt. Shoulda asked to speak to a manager.
The music on the radio teased at my consciousness. What was that tune? It was something familiar I'd heard many times before, but in another lifetime. 70's? 80's? ...Pink Floyd! That was it...yeah..."Money...it's a crime...share it fairly...but don't take a slice from my pie." The song was from their 1973 album, The Dark Side of the Moon.
And then it hit me--I had crossed over to "The Dark Side." I had become one of--them! I was one of the haggling, penny pinching consumers I had been combating all day. When had it happened? What was that pivotal moment that had driven me over the line to negativity?
Sometimes, if you're really listening, the Universe sends you a little wake-up call. That's my theory and I'm stickin' to it.
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