The 5 Distressing Stages Of Shopping At Target


Target seems to be the suburban equivalent of Las Vegas.

There are no clocks on the wall, no windows to let you gaze outside and I wouldn’t be surprised if they pump oxygen throughout the store to keep you alert.

I’ve heard it suggested they might as well implement at $25 cover charge, as it seems to be impossible to walk out of the store without spending at least that amount. And as aware as I am of the hypnotizing logo and siren song of sales, I still find myself traveling through the five stages of shopping at Target every freaking time.

1. Denial

I’ll only go in for one thing. In fact, just to ensure that I make it quick, I’m going to drink at least 24 ounces of tea and water — not Starbucks from the Target location, as that will simply caffeinate my craziness and "forget" to use the bathroom before leaving. Given my aversion to hovering above public pissers, this is a fool-proof plan.

Plus, if I go at a time in which the store is most likely to be full of screaming children who feel they need ALL THE THINGS when in fact they just need a nap, the constant soundtrack of shrieks will serve as a not-so-subliminal reminder that although the appeal of a discounted chevron towel in the SAME EXACT COLORS as my kitchen —only $4! — my greater desire will be to escape from the ear-splitting screams.

2. Anger

After finding the one thing I went in there for, I come across bright colored melamine plates that would look great stuck in my cupboard for months — only $2! — and a 3-pack of gel fresheners in a variety of seasonal scents — only $2.79!

What the hell, Target? This wasn’t in your ad and I didn’t bring my 75-cent off coupon! I haven’t planned for these additional purchases! Crap. I also have to pee.

3. Bargaining

Even though I only came in here for one thing, at least I didn’t grab a cart. I WILL NOT GRAB A CART — or as I prefer to call them, "enablers." Better to carry what I "need" by hand so that I have a palpable feel as to my prospective purchases. If I can’t carry it, I don’t buy it.

4. Depression

Crap again. I can carry a lot in my arms.

5. Acceptance

Fine. You win. Where the hell is the wine aisle? I might as well go all-in. A full-bodied red would look lovely in the two new Room Essentials wine glasses I have perched precariously on top of the Nate Berkus towel I found over on clearance. Next time I’ll stick to the plan, but this is simply too good to miss.

Now where are the bathrooms again?

This article was originally published at Reprinted with permission from the author.


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