CUTTING THE TAG

I'm not a spontaneous shopper.  I am, by nature, cautious. It's not that I'm cheap, though I'd like to be, I just really hate losing.  Sad as this may be to admit, the mere thought that I might buy object X and then see it cheaper somewhere else, or find a better version, lets call it X+ moments after I cut off the price tag, strikes fear in my heart; it sends tremors down my credit card hand. Because of this, I hate the hard sell. 

You know the hard seller, the store employee who follows you around complimenting your taste and selection, telling you what a good deal it is and how you better jump on it now before it disappears. Then, when you're home and your purchase is inevitably too loose or tight or redundant, and you feel cheated and want to return the item the hard seller has already moved on, like the girl you dated despite everyone saying she was too hot for you, only to find yourself asking "why?" as you paid for the cab taking her to the apartment of her 'friend from the gym'.  Yes, like her, when you come to return your lightly used item the hard seller is busy whoring herself out to some other man, complimenting his selections and sense of style, telling him how they're supposed to fit like that and that undersized is in this season.  When I walk into a store and someone asks me if I need help, I flee. I take to the hills like an Afghani (that's an odd place for an 'h' don't you think? Very Delhi) rebel and hope they latch onto someone else before they can reacquire my heat signature. 

This, in some length, is why I love book stores.  There's no hard sell, no seductive siren sashaying herself (that my friends is alliteration at work) down murder mysteries telling you how reading a Raymond Chandler on the train will perfectly compliment your ensemble and make you irresistible. It's just me and time and books.  Or at least it was (cue mood music).  Borders, it would seem, has decided to put the hard sell on me.  A member of the Borders Rewards Club, I receive coupons in my email, these coupons are valid for a number of days before they go the way of your local Blockbuster and expire.  I appreciate these coupons, I do, but I think I've earned them through my patronage, so imagine how I felt when instead of just sending me a coupon and leaving it at my discretion how and if I'd use it, they begun sending me daily emails counting down the days until my coupon expired.

- Only 3 more days left to get your 30% off
- Act soon, your coupon is set to expire!
- Your last chance for savings!

I can feel them closing in on me.  It's like I'm in the dressing room, the hot spotlight shining down on me in that conveniently renamed prison cell while the siren stands outside asking what I plan on keeping.  They know I don't want to lose my 30% they know it will irk me to think that I might end up buying a book at full price instead.  They know this and they abuse their power.  Well, I have news for you Borders, it turns out I don't even care after three or four drinks.  I find if I have a few drinks in me by the time your email comes in at 9am I can get through the day on nothing more than two shots and a six pack.  So you see, I've solved the problem, you can stop reminding me my coupon is about to expire... please?

On an unrelated note, does anyone happen to know anyone who doesn't plan on using their liver any time soon?