Allow Me To Gripe?

Dear Pushy Bookstore Cashier,

I'm sure you remember me -- I'm the stubborn, ill-informed, backwoods, ignoramus who insisted on refusing your oh-so-kind offer of a $20 book club discount card. And when I say oh-so-kind, I mean terribly forceful and full of reproach. That kind.

You see, I don't visit real, live bookstores with much frequency. The books are too expensive to justify when I know I'll finish most anything I get within a week or two, and the same books can be borrowed for free from the library or purchased on the cheap from my favorite used book store. So, no. I don't really have much use for your discount card. Not to mention, I'm pretty sure that paying $20 for a discount card goes against my religious, moral, and genetic codes. It just doesn't spell S-M-A-R-T for my family at our current one-income level of living.

I popped into your store today in search of a specific gift item that I'd been alerted to -- one not available in the used book universe -- and enjoyed my time wandering through the aisles and displays, dreaming of which books to put on my library list. Bookstores have always put me in a fabulous mood, what with the thousands of books at my fingertips, the coffee smells wafting out from the cafe, and the hushed atmosphere. I was in a happy place. A calm place.

But it quickly turned into an uncomfortable and demeaned place. When you first asked me if I'd be interested in buying the discount card, I politely declined and gave you a simple answer about why it wasn't going to happen. You persisted; I expected that. I understand that in retail, you may receive incentives for selling as many extra doo-dads as possible, so it wasn't terribly irritating to state my denial twice.

By your third attempt, however, I was starting to get confused. I didn't understand your depth of investment in my answer and wondered if you would ever stop asking. I thought about saying yes just to make it stop -- perhaps you were banking on that. You explained to me, none too politely, that it would be ridiculous for me to not take advantage of the possible $500 savings per year that were available to me, not to mention the $5 and change I would be saving today! Wow! $505? All for buying a $20 card? Why, yes! That is a bargain! IF I had the capability to spend thousands of dollars a year at your store, I can understand how the card would be helpful. Seeing as how I enter your bookstore a maximum of 3 times a year, for holidays and celebratory gifts as needed, I declined your third attempt. With a saccharine, angelic smile, I thanked you, but said I wasn't interested.

This must have set off alarm bells in your head, because you knit your eyebrows together with incredulous concern. You explained -- for the FOURTH time -- the simple, yet wondrous capabilities of the discount card. You spoke slowly, as if I weren't fully processing the deal I was turning down: ANY FAMILY MEMBER CAN USE IT. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO BE IN THE STORE TO USE IT. I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WOULDN'T WANT THIS CARD. By this time, my cheeks were heating up, whether from anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure. There was a line behind me, and I was being browbeaten by your singsong facade. All I wanted to do was pay and leave, so I refused again. With the same words I'd used each time before, I declined the discount card and handed over my money.

You banged some keys on the cash register, bagged my items and gave it your last, best shot. You told me, "To be honest, if I were you I would've just gone ahead and signed up for the card at this point. I mean, you're turning down some really significant future savings." All the while, your face was telling me how ignorant you considered my decision to be.

Now, I'm a non-confrontational type of person. Not because I'm overly nice, but because when I get frustrated or angry, my words seem to all jumble up and fall off my tongue in a completely different way than I'd intended. So I just smile and nod, and go about my business. But today? Today I had to BITE my tongue. I had to try my hardest to not tell you that YOU were not ME and therefore YOU should just let. It. Go.

I was proud of my success in not speaking rudely to you. Instead, I just quietly stated that I wasn't going to change my decision, and that I'd like to be on my way. You handed my my change and, in clipped tones, thanked me for shopping with you today. I hightailed it out the front door before my face caught fire.

If your goal was to scare me off, you've succeeded. If your goal was to make me feel smaller and dumber than a rock, you've succeeded. If your goal was to impress me with your tenacity, you've succeeded.

But if your goal was to make me feel welcome and wish to come back to your store more often, you've failed.

Happy Hunting,
Sarah The Disgruntled