My Beef Of The Week
First of all, let me say that I like babies. I like them a lot in fact. I like pregnant people. I have no issues there. I love my pregnant friends and their babies. I love strangers that are pregnant and their babies. Little people are cute.
However, what I do not like is a certain big box baby story that has taken the name of a lovely musical and turned it into a play on words celebrating capitalism and conspicuous consumption. (Yes, Buy Buy Baby, I’m looking at you. I won’t say that you’re a lot of what’s wrong with America because that would obviously be a bit extreme, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about it occasionally.)
This past Saturday, I had the pleasure of going to Buy Buy Baby. Clearly, my first mistake was going on a Saturday. I work from home, I have other opportunities to shop and I should have known better. I will take responsibility for throwing myself in with the stroller stampede at such an inopportune time.
Inside, I walked straight to the registry desk and gave the lovely woman behind the counter my friend’s name. Now, while she’s pulling up my friend’s registry, I can clearly see a line, three-deep of gift bags behind her. Are these gift bags for anyone using the registry service? Of course not. These gift bags are for registering pregnant ladies. What I’m about to say will probably sound selfish and I like I need to feel special all the time, but well, I can fall into that category, so I’m just going to own it. Pregnant women come in to Buy Buy Baby to scan gifts they want and leave, and they get the free stuff? I come in here to print out a piece of paper that will tell me what to spend money on, and I get nothing? I think there’s a flaw in the system. Why can’t we all have gift bags for being in the store? Hell, I’d even settle for a sticker. Did no one hear read about reciprocity in Psych 101? You have no idea the unnecessary shopping I’ve done for a logo-embossed stress ball or ruler.
As the registry attendant hands me my print out, she says, “When you check out, don’t forget to give the cashier your registry so you can enjoy the free gift wrap service.”
I thank her and move on. This is when I discover that the registries at Buy Buy Baby are arranged in no way that is at all helpful. I want aisle numbers and kiosk locations. What I get are headings like “Feeding” and “Bedding.” Bottles are in feeding? Really? And crib sheets belong in bedding? What would I have done without this oh-so-handy information?
Going through the list, I decide that I want something like the Go Monkey Pack ‘n’ Play Travel Go Set. I walk to the “Toys” section, but can’t seem to find it in the sea of other themed baby items, so I look for an associate.
“Can you help me find the Go Monkey Pack ‘n’ Play Travel Go Set?” I ask the first person in a blue shirt I can find.
It is at this point that I realize Buy Buy Baby has caused me to speak complete nonsense. A Go Monkey yadda yadda go set? Who am I?
We walk to toys together. (I will say that the Buy Buy Baby staff is incredibly nice. My strong feelings are reserved for their employer – “The Baby Man,” “The Baby Machine,” “The Baby Capitalist” or whatever you want to call it.) Our conversation continues, and while these were not the exact words used, this is what if felt like.
“I don’t see Go Monkey, but how about Chimpanzee Play Park?”
“I’d really rather have Go Monkey.”
“Are you sure that it say’s it available there? If it says that it’s available, I’m going to have to go to the back.”
I nod, and I wait.
“It says it’s available because only the display model is left. Would you like to special order it?”
I think, “And drive the 15 miles back here to pick it up?” I say, “No thank you.”
Three people then apologize to me about the dearth of Go Monkeys.
“It’s fine, really. I’ll find something else.”
I’m temped to go look for the Cuddle ‘n’ Love Sleepy Time Lamb Buddy (do you not see what I mean about this nonsense language?), but since it’s under the “Miscellaneous” heading, I assume I will never locate the item in the store. (Is that a wire basket near the cash register? A wall in between sections?) The Soft Fleece Wrap Wrist Buddy also confuses me, and unable to handle another conversation with a sales associate, I head to feeding feeling like I probably can’t get bottles wrong.
Purchase at last in hand, I head to check-out and hand over my items and my registry print-out.
“Thank you for shopping with us today, and please feel free to make use of our gift-wrapping station.”
Wrapping station? Now, in my mind, complimentary gift wrap service is labor-free. At Buy Buy Baby, complimentary gift wrap is exactly what it sounds like – free wrapping paper.
At the station, I wrap my gifts in paper covered with the Buy Buy Baby logo. So, really, what I’m doing here is perpetuating Buy Buy Baby’s advertising while annoying everyone in line behind me because of my ribbon-tying difficulties. This only reminds me that for my help with their marketing, I really should have gotten one of those free gift bags from behind the registry counter, and I use an extra piece of the nice ribbon in my own passive-aggressive revenge move.
Finally free of the store, I nearly skip to my car. I would vow to only shop online in the future, but I’m not sure how I’d use my coupons that way. Then I’m off to pick up another baby registry at Target.
Oh, Target, how I love you. I can print my own registry. The registry is organized by aisles. I actually find what I need without having to say the words “nipple,” breast pump” or “Me Learn To Drive Baby” aloud.
And then I see it. In aisle N22. Just below the bibs. It’s the exact two items I just purchased from Buy Buy Baby. For less.
Luckily, I find it to hard to get too angry when surrounded by onesies, and I knew it was better to just walk away.
Pregnant and mom friends, I love you dearly, but I might have to start some sort of campaign for a price-matching program at the baby box store. I apologize in advance if I embarrass you.
As for Buy Buy Baby, I know we will meet again, but as far as I’m concerned, this isn’t over – not by a long shot.