The extreme-for-Western-New-York weather (to keep things in proper perspective, my friend, Lisa once gave me a t-shirt from Embarrass, Minnesota which boasts a record-breaking low temperature of -60 degrees F) recently took a toll on Savannah's battery. My husband Brad seems to think, because he's the one summoned either out of bed or from greatly inconvenient distances to constantly save us from the brink of vehicular destruction or disrepair, that I should cheerfully be his "parts" person. Through no fault of my own, this scenario never turns out well.
So with (very heavy) car battery in hand, Savannah and I headed into our local automobile supply store. "Wouldn't this be cheaper at Stuff-Mart," Savannah asked, worried about her wallet. "Well, since we need to turn in some recycled oil anyway, we might as well pick up the battery here," I told her, knowing full well that, although the price might be slightly more expensive, the sales staff would look up the appropriate battery and put it right on the counter for me! We (Savannah) paid the five dollar fee for New York State to safely dispose of our old battery and then headed to Stuff-Mart to continue our errands with Savannah fretting terribly about her over-hundred-dollar purchase the entire time.
I could tell Savannah's heart really wasn't into the careful selection of Daddy's deodorant. Knowing that I still had about thirty more varieties to test-sniff, Savannah dashed off to the automobile section. I had just narrowed my decision to either Arctic Fresh or Dynamic Sport when she returned, a look of devastation plastered to her face. "I'll make up the difference," I said, annoyed by her Scrooge-like dramatics, "just don't tell Daddy." "You're going to make up the over-twenty-dollars difference," she snarled. I sighed, settling on Arctic Fresh, "Let's go buy the Stuff-Mart battery."
I lugged our just-recently-purchased battery back in the auto parts store while Savannah cowered in the van. Slightly embarrassed but determined, I asked first for a refund and then begged for my dirty, old battery back. I learned all about the store's price-matching guarantee which did me little good since, at the moment, I was the proud owner of TWO car batteries and finally, money-in-hand and shuffling like a penguin, I was able to make the long, walk-of-shame through the door.
But we weren't done yet. Oh no. Back to Stuff-Mart we trekked, hefting that corroded monkey-on-our-back into a cart and wheeled it all the way to the rear of the store. "Why don't we just take it to Customer Service," Savannah asked as we passed it immediately upon entering the store. I rolled my eyes in exasperation as we rolled our way up and down a dozen aisles in search of a sales associate. "Savannah, you clearly have no idea how the real world operates," I lectured as I caught sight of a salesperson racing away from us. Savannah and I broke into a jog, zig-zagging after the fleeing employee, "The battery must be exchanged in the auto parts section," I shouted at my daughter, as we split up to cut off his escape. Once we had all caught our breath, the nice sales clerk pointed us to the Customer Service desk. "Well, that was certainly helpful," I said, as we waited in line for twenty minutes, watching a toddler wrestle her way out of the shopping cart safety belt and then use the harness to Tarzan-swing her way to the ground to avoid the evil clutches of a mother who was, at that moment, simultaneously returning the tiny gymnast's toys. Savannah was surprisingly quiet as we retrieved the five dollar deposit money that we hadn't even realized we'd paid on our second battery-of-the-day so we could get rid of the old one (again).
Victorious, we returned to the van. "Victorious?" Savannah shrieked, breaking her reflective reverie. "You consider this shopping fiasco a victory?" I stared at her, confused. Why was she so upset? Savannah's tirade wasn't over, "I said right from the beginning that we should have gone to Stuff-Mart but no-oo-oo...we did things your way and ended up quadrupling this shopping nightmare." "But you have your battery AND at the better price," I said soothingly, "Everything worked out just fine now, didn't it?" It was Savannah's turn to stare at me. She let out an exasperated "huff" and then stared out the van window for the remainder of the drive home. I decided that "right now" wasn't the proper time to expect gratitude for all of my help in helping Savannah procure her new battery. I'm sure she'll remember to thank me soon.
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