Thank You Target Customer Service

 I'm very grateful for the Customer Service Clerk yesterday at Target in in White Marsh MD. 

I was returning some sweatpants that I bought because they were on the "L" for large hanger. Because I'm a large now because of all the sourdough and Sauvignon Blanc I employ as diversionary tactics from the the panic of the Pandemic as well as the all of everything of 2020. These pants were on a "L" hanger, and I just grabbed them because I don't want to try things on, because dressing rooms now seem like a lethal luxury. So, I grabbed them and checked out. 

I'd been looking for soft sweatpants that were NOT joggers, because even having something tight-ish around my ankles would then pull on my waist band and let slip the latest love handle exposing all eyes to my back fat. My sourdough sauvignon blanc back fat. All eyes! or at least the eyes of my self-loathing inner bitch who just won't shut up. 

So I bought these open leg sweatpants at Target because they will make me feel a degree or two better about myself, which my current pile of too many pants does not. I buy the pants. I take them home and eagerly try them on. They are huge. This makes me happy. The large, is huge on me, like, falling down huge. For a moment I think I am losing weight. I am not, but the inflation of sizes works its magic on my ego and for a moment I feel great. I've never been so happy at a return. As I take them off, I think to take a peek at the size, because, apparently happiness needs to be based on fact. 

These pants are not large. 

They are not extra large. 

They are 2XL. 

I am no longer happy. I am no longer looking forward to this return. I now feel burdened by it. 

And by the fact that I have to make dinner soon. 

And by the fact that it never occurs to anyone else to make me dinner.

And by my husband's and son's bickering.

And by son # 2's struggle with whether to take next semester off.

And his too confident for his age declaration that college is a social construct and not really necessary. (mind you he loves college in non-pandemic times. LOVES it).

When am I going to find time to return these pants?

I try on my drive down to Maryland where I live part time because my husband got a job in DC, but I'm still clinging onto my life in Philadelphia in a current "last" ditch effort to reclaim some of my identity. Except that now I have this job in MD. Very nice people. I'm very lucky to be employed. Also true is that I am very sad to not be doing what I love, and each day of working with these very nice people, I am reminded that I never really believed I was good enough at what I loved. So I definitely see more sourdough and sauvignon blanc in my future.

So I'm on my way down to MD to work on site one day, and I think, oh, I'll just stop by the Target on City Ave. It's on the way. So, I drive there to discover that they have closed early due to an "abundance of caution." And then I remembered the riots because of the police shooting of a young black man two nights ago. And I remember the balance of sweatpants to centuries of injustice is insignificant. And I shut the f!?* up.

So next day, I do my work and begin to head home to Philly because Offspring #1 starts a new class the next day and is nervous. This can range from mild to hideous, so I felt it necessary to be home to cook large meals and generally absorb his anxiety because I need something to work for him. At this point I've been gone less than 24 hours. I'm in no rush to get home.

I'm in no rush to absorb my husband's anxiety.

I'm in no rush to absorb Offspring #1's anxiety.

I'm in no rush to think about Offspring #2's anxiety.

I'm in no rush to rush home to take care of those who are happy to leave me dangling in the wind uncared for and untended like the leggy web of dust gathering in the corner of every ceiling in my house.

And I remember there is a Target in White Marsh. There is also a TJ Maxx. Maybe they will have an office chair to replace the folding chair I've been torturing my back with. I decide to stop.

The line at customer service is not too long. Perhaps this is the turning point my life hinges on. I stand on my socially distant circle. Then my phone rings. I breathe, in an attempt to garner strength, as I see it is Offspring #1 calling. I answer the phone, like a chump.

There is much outrage with his dad. Apparently Husband is driving him crazy. 

I advance in the line. 

I am trying to calm my enraged Offspring whose complaints about Husband are all valid. They are all frustrations I have had over the years, and the Pandemic induced proximity has brought into sharp relief for Offspring #1. The problem is that once he goes down the rabbit hole, it tends to be a long journey.

I am in a public place. I am wearing a mask. I do not want to be that asshole on the phone when at the register. I do not want to be that asshole. But this geyser has sprung. 

And now it is my turn. 

And I am that asshole.

I plunk the bag on the counter, while still trying to calm the kid and get off the phone. I don't even take the time to shoot the clerk an apologetic yet empathy seeking look. I maybe see her face for a moment and a half, but it is miraculous. It is calm and wise. She knows I am dealing with a child's temper tantrum, even though it is not accompanied by the typical visual. She knows why I'm there. She sees the sweatpants. She gets the whole sourdough/sauvignon blanc dilemma. She understands that all of the pressures the everyday citizen is bearing from this pandemic are intersecting at this moment for me. And she processes my return in less than 30 seconds. No words were exchanged. I nodded my thanks and continued my conversation in the restroom alcove.

I left quickly. 

I was grateful for this Target Customer Service genius immediately, but I couldn't register it because of the ongoing tantrum. Not just my offspring's, but my own. My own swirl of shit both real and hyperbolized. And for a moment, not even enough time for a moment, another human being understood and helped in the subtlest and most astonishing way. They simply made my life easier for 30 seconds.

And this is why we will survive all of this, because sometimes we just get each other. We stop battling and competing and comparing, and simply recognize that of ourselves in someone else. We see beyond the noise and the 24 hour news cycle and the extremities that strain to define and limit our humanity. We look beyond our demographic, we forget our talking points, and we simply recognize the human being in front of us. We recognize the subtext of the moment, and we are filled with empathy, compassion and connection. And then the next moment feels easier.

This reminds me of another tantrum. This time Offspring #1 was maybe 2 years old and some change. Offspring #2 was pretty brand new. We were walking on the sidewalk of lovely Chestnut Hill, which is as it sounds-charming and beyond my tax bracket. Offspring #1 was cranky, I do not remember why, and he threw himself on the ground and tantrum-ed away. I attempted to calm the storm to no avail. An older, well dressed and coiffed woman was approaching. I feared the advice or disdainful look that I was certain would come. She reached us, stopped, looked at the Tasmanian devil on the side walk, and then looked at me and said:

"Sometimes you just have to lay down on the ground and cry."

She knew. She understood. She recognized.

So when, in the next weeks, the impulse is to lead and react based on assumption, I propose we all follow the lead of  Target Customer Service Rep and Well-Coiffed Chestnut Hill Woman. Recognize, see and ease.

And Vote.