The decision was easy. I could keep the super expensive rhododendrons purchased from a local nursery, or return them and purchase others I saw at a home improvement store for a lot less. I could have saved $65 had I just waited to see what both places offered before buying from either of them. So I headed back to the high-priced nursery and prepared myself to beg in case they hesitated, but they accepted my returns without any problem.
After picking out some nice replacements at the cheaper place I got in line at the registers where I waited behind a couple who were buying a huge cart full of stuff. After their transaction, the wife left with all their plants but the husband, for some odd reason, just stood there like he needed to be told to go home. And he continued to stand pretty close to me while the cashier rang up my plants.
Buying anything these days is never as simple as just paying for your stuff. Now, there’s a book of questions every cashier is required to flip through before you’re allowed to leave. “Would you like to save $5 for signing up for our Visa card?” No. “Do you have our Preferred Shopper Collect-More-Points card?” No. “Would you like to add some batteries to your purchase today?” No. Wait – batteries?! No! It should be as simple as these three steps: 1) being greeted, 2) hearing your total, and 3) being thanked, but before we could get to Step #2, the cashier asked if I was interested in some unrelated item or service. I didn’t hear her so I turned my head, cupped my good ear and said, “I’m sorry…” Just then that previous customer, the one still standing too close, said something to the cashier and handed her his credit card. But I felt confused by not hearing either of them and looked back and forth between the two hoping that someone would clear things up for me.
I suppose if I could hear and process information as quickly as most people I could have immediately said, “Well, thank you my friend. You have now earned the right to follow me around whenever you please,” or, “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can get it, but thanks anyway.” Instead, I stood there dumfounded and mumbled, “I don’t know what to say,” because honestly, I didn’t. After his credit card was scanned he quickly signed his name and walked off. He didn’t even look at me. When he was about ten feet away I decided I had better say something. “Uh, hey. Thank you.” He finally turned and looked at me and said, “Hey, pass it along,” except all I could come up with for a response was, “I will.”
For an instant it felt like I was being rewarded for something, but I couldn’t figure out what I had done to deserve such a generous gift. I even backtracked the events of that morning but nothing came to mind. Or was it because of something nice I did yesterday? Last week? Was I singled out because of the wheelchair? That seemed too obvious, but without it I’d be just another plain customer.
As the commitment to “pass it along” sunk in that brief good feeling quickly turned sour. Look, I didn’t ask him to do something nice for me, but now I had to do something nice to someone else? It felt like he pulled me into a game of tag, unwillingly, and now I had to play even though I didn’t want to. I wanted to somehow track down this guy and say, “Look, I appreciate your gesture, but I really don’t need the added burden in my life to do something generous for someone else just because you said so.”
Why couldn’t I have just paid for my stuff and gone home with a clear conscience? Now, I had this to worry about. Who would be the recipient? Should it be planned or random? What are the criteria? Would he approve if I ordered some CDs online and passed it along to myself? Why not? I didn’t appreciate being saddled with this. What kind of dollar amount did he have in mind? Would it count if I went out of my way to greet the trash man every Monday? Could I then order him to pass it along? Will something bad happen if I don’t follow through with all this? And what about…
3 Mulligans 