This post is for all the sales people I will encounter while I shop for gifts this Christmas.
No, you can’t have my email address so you can mail me my receipt.
I’m saying this here because I’m way too much of a fraidy-cat to actually say it in person. You can’t have it even if – and this is hard for me –you want to mail me massive discounts. Why? Because we both know the only thing that’s massive here is the deceit. You want to turn my electronic letterbox, into a virtual litter box. And you and your company will poop in it for the rest of time.
There. That’s done. Now while I live under the deeply misinformed (and comforting) presumption every sales person across America will read this post, let me explain: I’m useless at saying no to store sales people.
Firstly, and mainly, because they all look so damn good it’s intimidating. Even the ones in the décor stores look great. They have this glow about them that makes me certain I should have that mid century lounger and those cute bear coasters because then I’d look like that too.
Secondly, they are all so good at compliments. While they ring up your purchase they always do the “oh-my-god-when-these-came-in-store-I-died-best-gift-ever!” routine. You could be buying a pen just to write a Christmas gift list and they will make you think about calling Wallpaper so you can offer to write their “Best Gifts” column because you have such great taste. It’s true. On low self-esteem days go to Barney’s, they will drag up something they see that is “super cute on you”. Wear your H&M jammies and robe and they’ll tell you they loooove your layering. I swear.
But. This is all how they get to that moment, where you’re paying for the gift, and they look sympathetically at your wallet over-flowing with slips of paper and ask, “Should I just mail your receipt today?”
They deliver the line with such care they could be saying, “Should I just mail your $1000 today?” It’s always at that moment that I cave, and spell out my email like mac and dot com are words you’d get at the spelling bee finals. And for the rest of time that store fills my inbox with small, defecated discounts that will await me every time I open my email like perpetual electronic floaters.
Of course there are some sales people that will insinuate that emailing a receipt is an eco move. Like at the Apple store, you know, where they sell electronic goods that go into no doubt perfectly designed landfills and will still be there in 3016. I’ve even had a nice sales person at Paperchase try the eco excuse. How he couldn’t see the reams of irony that surrounded us. Paperchase is practically a tree coroner with gift tags instead toe tags for the forests they’ve turned into gift wrap.
So, this year I’m going to be strong. No one gets my email. Except the Container Store sales lady. She can have my email. In fact, I already gave it to her. Because I love the Container Store. When I die I’d like my ashes to be placed in any one of their canisters. Maybe even distributed across a few that are stackable and matching, like the Orla Kiely ones, now those are super cute Mr. Barney’s sales person.
You see my email, although electronic, is still something private. Like the old-fashioned mailbox I will give you the address if I hope to stay in touch with you. If I like you. If you’re hoodwinking me into giving it to you, we should probably not be friends. After all, friends don’t poop in others friends inboxes.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I just got an email from the Container Store. Yay! Massive discounts!
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