Today is not the day to fuck with me!

Posted by barb on Jul 28, 2006 in Random Thoughts |

I’ve been a customer of Lane Bryant for more than 15 years. In all that time, one thing has really bugged me about buying clothes at their stores. Every time I check out, I am pestered by the cashier to apply for a Lane Bryant credit card. Every. Fucking. Time.

The conversation usually goes something like this:
Cashier: Will this be going on your Lane Bryant card?
Me: Nope
C: Do you have a Lane Bryant card?
Me: Nope
C: If you apply for one today, you’ll save 15% on your entire purchase.
Me: No thanks.
C: But it’s a really great deal.
Me: Nope.
C: Okay, but you’re missing out.
Me: I don’t care.
C: Your total is…

I’ve tried various ways to cut this conversation off.

Trial 1:
C: Do you have a Lane Bryant card?
Me: Nope, and I don’t want one.
C: But you could save …

Trial 2:
C: Do you have a Lane Bryant card?
Me: Nope, and I’m really tired of you people asking me.
C: But you could save…

Trial 3:
C: Do you have a Lane Bryant card?
Me: Nope, and I don’t want another credit card in my wallet.
C: But you could apply, save your 15%, and just pay it off right away.

Trial 4:
C: But you could save 15% on your entire purchase today.
Me: I know because you’ve accosted me about this every time I shop here, and I haven’t changed my mind.
C: You’re missing a great deal.

I realize that one way to deal with this would be to lie to the cashier and simply say that yes I have a Lane Bryant card, but I don’t care to use it today. However, I don’t want to have to lie. I shouldn’t have to lie to have a good shopping experience.

Today I decided to try something different. (“Decided” might be a bit of an overstatement – I’m a bit stressed out, so perhaps my frustration just boiled over to make the decision for me.) The conversation went something like this:

Cashier: Are you going to put that on your Lane Bryant card?
Me: No, and I don’t care to apply for one, either.
C: But if you apply today you’ll save 15%…
M: Yes I know, and I’m tired of being asked every time I shop here. If you bring up that credit card again, I’m walking out of this store.
C: Yes, but…
M: Bye.

And, indeed, I walked out while she was ringing up my purchases.

I’m sure I’m now known as the “crazy lady” at that store, but I don’t care. I’m tired of having that conversation every fucking time I check out. I don’t shop there very often anymore, anyway, because much of their clothes are…um…hoochy-mama clothing, which I’m not into wearing. However, they are the only place that sells cute underwear in my size (emphasis on cute…I can find it elsewhere, but it’s fun to wear somthing cute, dammit). Maybe I’m just going to have to get used to boring, white, granny under clothes. Sigh.

Any other suggestions for how to deal with these over-programmed cashiers and their well-rehearsed script?



Jul 28, 2006 at 4:45 pm

Honey, I’m so proud of you! I also get tired of being accosted for credit cards (mostly Target, which drives me up an effing wall). You did just right…but of course, they are not going to stop bothering you.
(And, I suspect that like a lot of sales people, they have a “three no” rule. You have to say “no” three times before they can stop pestering you. I have been known to ask sales people if they have this rule, and then just say no three times in a row.)

Jul 31, 2006 at 8:48 am

You’re not crazy when you’re RIGHT, dammit.
One good thing about Lane Bryant – now that I know what size underwear I wear, I just order the stuff through their website. No annoying sales people.
And I agree – with the percentage of the US that’s made up of fat women, don’t you think SOMEONE would be making a buck offering, you know, NORMAL clothes for fat people? I’m fat, not blind. I’m neither a whore trying to drum up business at a nightclub nor a 52-year-old fundy schoolmarm, nor a female lounge lizard looking to cloak herself in gigantic freakin’ attack flowers! I just want to wear something chic and normal, for Goddess’ Sake!
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yeah, go you. And order online when you can.


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