It's Too Late, Baby

I remember when online shopping became available. I jumped on that right away. I love sitting in my sweats at 10 p.m. with a cup of tea or glass of wine ordering clothes, gifts, whatever. Although the wine can be a bad thing because it probably loosens the purse strings.

Because of my broken arm, last week I ordered our groceries through an online delivery service a local grocery chain offers. They deliver everything to your door. They charge $10 but I'm happy to give someone ten bucks to do my shopping, bring it to my door and put it on my kitchen island. I'd probably give them another ten bucks to put the stuff away. I think it actually saves me money because I stick to a list, no impulse buying.

I didn't get into online banking until a few years after the shopping but I pay all the bills I can online. I don't write 100 checks a year. However, I do check our accounts online several times a week to make sure nothing funny is going on. And we do business with a credit union that I know monitors members' credit card activity closely, and I have faith they would spot something before it got too far. But I know, things can happen and there are risks.

Before he got used to it, Paul would see me whip out my credit card to place an online order and ask "do you really think that's safe?" My answer was "it's all over, dear. The info is already out there." And I would remind him that when they swipe his credit card at a restaurant, the info is transferred by modem over the Internet.

A few minutes ago I called the local Toyota dealership to schedule an appointment to fix a recall. No, not the stuck accelerator. I never thought that was anything other than operator error. This has to do with a master cylinder brake thingy.

The young lady in the service department asked when I wanted to bring the car in. I said Friday at 3 p.m. Fine, we'll see you then. Wait. She hadn't asked my name. Half expecting the answer, I asked "Do you know who I am?" "Yes, I see your caller ID and I looked you up in the computer. You're all set, Mrs. S."

See what I mean? It's all over, it's out there.

Marketing 101

We went furniture shopping last weekend. I hate furniture shopping. I pretty much hate any shopping but furniture is the worst. The sales people hang around the entrance to the store clutching their clipboards and looking hungrily at anyone who enters. I hear them whisper "This one's yours, Joe." One store I went into literally had a dry erase board where all could see where they kept track of which sales person the next shopper belonged to. Tacky, tacky.

I make my living on sales commissions, too, but I don't pounce on people like a cheetah on an impala as they walk through the door of an open house. I might walk along with them but I don't keep a running babble pointing out the obvious. "This is a closet." "Really? I just thought they forgot to put the sink and toilet in there." Seriously, I've seen realtors who do that.

When we walked in Sunday there was a 'concierge' at a desk at the door. "Can I help you? What are you looking for today?" Reluctantly, because I know this means they will assign a haunt to us, I said living room furniture. "Leather or fabric?" To which I replied "Yes." He looked a bit confused. Honestly we don't know whether we want leather or fabric or a combination of the two. So my answer was truthful. I kept walking as he pointed in the directions where we could find living room furniture.

As we walked through, there were sales people strategically placed in different sections and each one piped up with some question as we walked along. I hate when sales people butt into our conversation as Paul and I are talking and walking along pointing out different things to each other. Quit asking me what I'm looking for. I don't know what I'm looking for! That's what browsing means.

Unless you want to be downright rude, it's pretty hard to avoid these people. I want to say "If I have a question, I'll find you." I know they work on commission and if someone that I don't find totally obnoxious begins helping us, I will be sure to find that person if I have questions and I'll tell them that.

Have you noticed the phrase they now have in sales (especially with furniture) called an "up charge?" One woman kept referring to an "up charge" as I asked about different fabrics and grades of leather. Paul had no idea what she was referring to. I had already turned the price tag over, which was huge, not so much to be visible across the store but to include all the"up charges."

As she kept saying things like "there's a $150 up charge for this" "a $250 up charge for that," and I could see he wasn't following her, I said "depending on what you choose, there's an up charge from $50 to $450 per piece." "You mean an extra charge? So why don't they call it that?"

I bet the marketing genius who came up with the "up charge" one day as they all sat around the table brainstorming got a big bonus. Or maybe an "up charge" in his pay.

Note: My apologies to sales people who may be offended. I make my living in sales, too, but you don't need to act this way to be good at your job and successful. These sales tactics only aggravate our customers.

Please Mr. Postman

I hate to shop. Somehow I didn't get the shopping gene many women seem to have. I'm not being sexist, it's just that most of my friends love to shop. I'd rather get a sharp stick in the eye.

Nothing fits; I'm too tall. I have long arms and long legs. Waists are always in the wrong place, sleeves are too short, and pants are never long enough unless I buy from a specialty store (read $$$$). Plus I hate trying things on in those little dressing rooms with those freaky lights.

It took me years to wear capris. Yeah, I know, I'm supposed to be the one who can wear that style, but I've been struggling my whole life to find pants long enough, and now you want me to wear them short on purpose?! I don't think so.

I was given a $50 gift card to a local mall back in June. Last week I finally got there and tried to use it. I couldn't find any clothes. Found some bags I liked but I wasn't in the mood to pay the additional $60 they would have cost over the value of the gift card. I ended up in Bath and Body Works buying soaps and lotions to add to the stash I already have.

Online shopping, however, is another story. I can sit here for hours and click away through the various online stores and catalogs that have clothes that DO fit me. All it takes is money or rather a credit card. I recently spent an evening here catching up on some of the things I need. I did some serious damage to the credit card. Within a day or two the boxes began to arrive. And arrive. And arrive.

Paul once said that a UPS truck cannot drive by our house without stopping. We happened to be standing in the driveway when he made the comment. A Big Brown truck drove by just as we were having this discussion. I immediately pointed and said...."no suh, there's goes one now!" The words were barely out of my mouth when the truck stopped, backed up, and pulled into our drive and the driver jumped out and put a box in my hands.

Maybe they should assign me my own truck and driver.


Photos courtesy of Google Images.