I love weddings and shopping for them is no exception. Finding the perfect card… Browsing aisles of glittery bags that are accented with bows and swirly cursive. Running my eyes down registries and picking out something fun for the new bride. Suddenly, being a girl is extra fun. This is where elegant meets romantic. Where there is no such thing as too much pink. Where puffy dresses, beautiful flowers, and shiny jewels are the norm.
But every bride knows that wedding planning has a touch of stress too. And anyone who has ever shopped for a wedding knows that this can sometimes be a bit chaotic as well.
Now normally, I’m a fan of gift registry kiosks. The concept is great! You just type in the name of the bride or groom and out prints a collection of gift possibilities. Love the simplicity! But apparently, having a kiosk isn’t enough to bring a store out of the stone age. Because this particular store apparently still had dial-up internet. I kid you not. The little blue loading bar inched — and I mean inched — its way across the screen, while little blue circles danced and asked me to wait. (It didn’t help that this all happened last night after an extremely busy, hectic day at work. For the long ride to the store, I had to mentally remind myself that this was fun. That I was enjoying myself. Now this kiosk was taunting me with its snail-paced loading signal).
‘Please be patient’? Seriously? If I had a choice, do you think I’d be waiting? I’m waiting out of sheer necessity, because I wasn’t smart enough to print out the registry at home.
Yes, I had a mental conversation with the large brown kiosk. I may have even told it that it needed a paint job in a moment of impatience. I know, I know. Totally unnecessary. Anyway, I wish I had kept track of the amount of time it took me to push ‘Bridal registry,’ wait for it to load, type in the bride’s name, wait for it to load, and then print it… waiting for it to print. It was at least 10-15 minutes, which is a lot of time when you’re just standing by yourself at the side of the store. I seriously would have had time to order a pizza, and then I at least wouldn’t have been so crazy hungry.
That makes me wonder. Would a pizza place actually deliver to a gift registry kiosk?
Finally the registry printed, and I was off like a marathon runner. Now I take shopping for weddings quite seriously. So there was no rushing the decision making process of what I thought Ashley would most need when she first started cooking. So I naturally slowed down as I perused the aisles for a perfect gift.
Ooh, those are nice plates. Maybe she’d like that pitcher? Oh my gosh, what a CUTE hat! It’s perfect!! Oh, wait, you’re not here to buy a hat. Put it down. There you go…
Knowing how I couldn’t live without my crockpot, I decided to go with the grayish crockpot she had on her registry. After a trip through the card aisle and maybe a stop at the makeup section, I headed to the registers to pay.
You know what one of my pet peeves is? (Other than slow-loading gift registry kiosks, that is). It’s when a manager of a store stands at the end of the registers and directs traffic to different registers. There were three registers open and a ridiculously long line. I could see which lines were the longest for myself. What I really wanted was for her to open her very own register and to prove how fast she was at ringing up items. That would have impressed me!
But I waited patiently in my line and tried to remain outwardly positive while the guy in front of me stood on his soapbox and declared to the others in line that this was an outrage.
Finally it was my turn to pay and I dropped all my contents onto the belt.
“This is for a gift registry,”I told the cashier, pointing to the crockpot.
“Where’s your registry printout for me to scan?” she asked, smacking her gum.
My what? Oh, yeah, where was that paper? I moved things around… looked in my empty cart… stared suspiciously at the guy in line behind me. It had disappeared.
“You’re going to have to print out a new one,” she said, motioning me forward and turning to the guy behind me.
But apparently my eyes, wide in shock, and my gaping mouth did nothing to convince anyone that I needed a better way out. So I dragged myself over to the gift registry kiosk, waited another 10-15 minutes while the computer loaded, and loaded, and printed out the registry I needed. And then I rushed back over to the register, only to have to wait in line again because the cashier never motioned me forward. And this was a tough line, let me tell you. I wasn’t about to cut unless someone brought it up for me. Just to make it up to myself, I grabbed one of those Reeses chocolate peanut butter eggs that are out for the Easter season. I have to treat myself to one every spring. So good!
My turn again… The cashier scans the crockpot and the gift registry.
“You picked the wrong crockpot,” she mutters.
“Yeah, you definitely did,” she continues. “This is the deluxe edition, so it’s not coming off the registry. You’ll need to find the regular one.”
By this point, I won’t lie, I’m about to have a nervous break-down. All I want is to buy my friend something that she’ll really like. All I want is what’s on her registry. All I want is to go back in time and to order her something online. Oh, that would have been so much easier!
To make a long story short, they don’t end up having the crockpot on the registry. And at this point, I’m so exhausted and tired that I’m tempted to buy her the trash can she wants and maybe a few trash bags to go with it. But that kind of gift isn’t exactly what I’m looking for — as easy as it would be — so I rush back to the register to tell the cashier that I want everything but the crockpot: the card, wrapping paper, makeup, pens, notebook, and chocolate. I’ll order something.
So she scans everything and I walk through the parking lot, feeling shaky, hungry, and a little agitated. I settle down for the ride home and the moment brightens as I remember my chocolate peanut butter egg. I know that you’re not supposed to eat based on emotions, but this moment desperately called for chocolate. So I reached over for the bag and rummaged through it blindly with my free hand. I didn’t feel the familiar crinkle of the small, yellow bag.
So I dump the contents of the bag onto the passenger side seat and I want to cry…
They forgot to give me my chocolate egg!
*This was completely based on true events. I couldn’t make this up if I had wanted to.