Bi-Yo

Okay, so Paul has gotten used to grocery stores. His favorite is Bi-Lo. I'm not sure if that's because he gets a balloon when we go there, or if it's because he can pronounce it. We pulled into a grocery store parking lot this morning (not Bi-Lo, but cut him some slack; he can't read yet), and he starts chanting, "Bi, Bi, Biiiiiiii-Yo! Bi, Bi, Biiiiiiiiiii-Yo!" It was hysterical. At least I thought so. Maybe you had to be there.

Part 2-And Then the Sun Arose

It wasn't there! I had risked the ire of the cashier only to have another transaction fall flat? It was then that I fell apart. (By the way, if you're lost, see Part 1-"It was a dark and rainy night. . .") "Why do I even bother to do this! It never turns out how I plan."

My astonished husband assured me everything would be fine.

Fine! How could anything possibly be fine when we were sitting in a car full of 7 bags of $3 candy we'd never tried, that we didn't need, and we never would have given a passing glance to if they weren't going to be FREE? And no Extra Care Bucks to show for them. And my coupons were gone. The realization of what had gone wrong slowly rattled into clarity in my befuzzled brain. Not only were the Clusters not part of the deal--of course, it all makes sense now! Neither were the Reeses Pieces.

And here is where the Extra Care Plan really shines. The card. I didn't have to use the same receipt or buy all the candy at once. I have a card. (At least I used to have a card. But Jon still had a copy of the card, and he would give me his if we never found my keys. Which we did. But that's another, much shorter, story.) And by means of this card, any cash register in any CVS in the country remembers me, knows my name, and retains a record of my purchases.
In short, we could go home. I'd fix the whole mess later.

I was still somewhat irked that we had just paid full price ($3.99) for a bag of Reese Pieces that clearly stated they were 2/$4. I'm sure they were labeled that way. I just know they were. But that doesn't matter any more.

I returned Friday to my CVS. The one with the really, really nice clerks. I was prepared to do something only people like you, my readers, will understand. I was going to attempt to return a $4 bag of candy so I could buy $2 worth of candy so I could get $10 back.
To bring my story to a happy conclusion, it not only worked like a charm, it restored my confidence in the general helpful, cheerful character of CVS employees. I had two of the very nicest to assist me in my little adventure that day. And it will be to the Taylors CVS that I take as much of my future CVS buisness as I can.

It was a dark and rainy night. . .

So. It never goes quite as planned, does it? At least I don't think it does. But, though I really thought all was lost at one point, it turned out just fine in the end. Dramatic? Yeah, well, you should have been there. My husband should have been ruing the day I ever heard of the Extra Care Program. But he was really nice. And, as fairness demands me to add, he was right; and I was wrong. But it sure looked bleak.

Here's what happened. We had to go after church on Wednesday, since we were getting this little gift for Thursday (which incidentally we forgot on Thursday, so the recipient never would have known the difference, but that's neither here nor there), and it was raining, and it was late. So we had to go to the CVS which is opened 24 hours, not the one right on the way. I had my list planned. I even dropped a hint that Jon stay in the car with the baby so we didn't have to haul him in and out of the car seat. Once again, he was right, and. . . you get the idea. I rarely just "run in" to a CVS; something always throws off my plan or looks different from the ad or something. This night was no exception.
So I got the candy. Jon kept saying, "One more time, how will this be free?" I got 5 bags of Bliss, 1 bag of Reeses Clusters (because the coupon showed Reeses Clusters; my fatal mistake was assuming the ad also did), and a bag of Reeses Pieces that I still would declare to you were marked 2/$4. Perfect. $20 exactly. Doesn't usually work that way on "Spend $xx, get $y Extra Bucks" deals.
Now to find the contact solution and Powerade so my total will be over $15. (Insert disappointed cartoon music here, you know "Wamp, wamp, wamp, waaaaamp.") No contact solution. A nine-dollar monkey wrench at 9:30 at night with a restless one-year-old and an admittedly understanding husband who is not quite in the same Extra Care zone can cause things to fly apart. But it didn't. After locating the Powerade, I was about to say, "Forget it. I'll spend my $15 later," when Jon says from behind the ad of all places, "Hey, you could get handsoap here. You get $3 back. Well, we needed handsoap, and I knew for a fact I did not have SoftSoap coupons at home to mock me when I returned after having not had them with me, so I jumped.
We checked out. The cashier insisted that I hand her my Extra Bucks along with my coupons. I was momentarily nervous about whether that would throw off my beautiful $4/$20, but it didn't. The total was $5.36 even after the $15 ECB--well over what I expected it to be. That should have impelled me to stay right by the register until I had figured out exactly what happened. But I knew I was getting lots of Extra Bucks back so I allowed two things to lull me into complacency: 1) The receipt was a mile long; I knew the Hershey deal must have been successful, 2) The cashier was not at her perkiest at 9:30, and appeared to wish me and my coupon-using self anywhere but in front of her register. I was intimidated, and I thanked her most politely for her help (she hadn't seen anything yet, I'm afraid) and ducked through the rain to my car.
Whereupon I devoured my receipt as I always do to figure out just how I'd faired. (Cheesey dramatic music "Dun, dun, Duuuuuuuuuun") We got the soap, we got the Powerade. . .no $10 for the Hershey.
"We've got to go back!"
"No way."
"No, no. We never would have bought all that candy if it wasn't super cheap! Oh no, and the lady doesn't want to see me again!"
As the car is U-turning on 291, "Want me to do it? I don't know what I'm doing."
Slight pause. It's tempting, but he's right. "No. I'll go in," I said flatly, wishing I'd never heard the word "deal."
Sheepishly I approach the counter. "Umm, I must have misread the sign. These Clusters were right next to the other candy. . . but can I exchange them for the other kind that qualifies for the Extra Bucks?"
"Only the ones marked go with the deal."
Knowing it would be impolite to point out that I had as good as just said that very thing to her, I said an innocuous, "Yeah. Would it be all right if I return these and get the other kind?"
"Yeah. I can do a refund and then you can buy the other kind. Only the ones that say they go with the deal really work."
By this time, I was beginning to feel that perhaps this would be a good time to play dumb. I had a suspicion I was as familiar with the oft-referred to "deal" as she, but prudence seemed to support a meek, "Yeah." Because, you see, I failed to mention earlier that we were nearly late to church on account of a desperate search for my key ring. So I didn't even have my card. I had used the bigger one that Jon carries, but he now had that in the car with Paul.
"I, umm, left my card in the car. . ."
I was not rewarded with the customary "No problem; how about a phone number!" I am used to hearing from CVS cashiers. Rather I got a dubious, "We can try a phone number."
Endeavoring not to feel that I was suspected of putting one over on her, I responded with my husbands cell-phone number (our main contact).
Tappity, tappity. "Nope."
"Oh." (She'll never take back the Clusters.) "Okay, how about [my cell phone number]?"
It worked. I felt like a "not guilty" verdict had been handed down. She gave me the money for the Clusters in cash, rang up the Bliss, received three of the dollars she had just handed me, printed out another mondo receipt, and bid me a fond farewell.
Back in the car, I triumphantly pulled out the new receipt and searched for the $10 Hershey Extra Bucks. . .

That's enough for one post, I think. I'll be back later with . . . the rest of the story.

Sisters

I have lots of sisters. Two of them go to college in my town. I love having them here. They love having me here. They, I have no doubt, also love the fact that they can pick up free. . .whatever they need from my hall closet. Though sometimes they betray their amusement at the whole scheme. Apparently it's a sister thing.

I recently found out about my friend's blog, Saving in Greenville. Since she doesn't give her name on the blog, I'll make one up for her. How about . . . Cordelia. Cordelia is a perfectly elegant name. Anyway, my sister Laura is friends with Cordelia's sister Mary Beth, and Laura was telling us about her conversation with Mary Beth the other day:

L: My sister has gotten into shopping at--
MB: Drug stores, right? Mine too!
L: She has like this stash of shampoo and--
MB: Yeah, and tons of toiletries. Cordelia had this huge supply, and then last year, she decided to have a yard sale, and you know what she did? She SOLD it all! I was like, "Why did you do that! That was my stash of toiletries!"
L: Yeah, my sister started this blog.
MB: MINE TOO!

Maybe they could start a support group. "Sisters of Drugstore Junkies United" or something. Oh well. She really appreciates it deep down, I'm sure. ;-)

Folder's Big Adventure

Once upon a time there was a fat little green coupon folder. There was nothing especially attractive about it. It was just a small accordion-style folder with a stretchy strap to keep the flap closed. But the folder's owner was very fond of it. She took Folder with her into every drug store, grocery store, convenience store, hardware store, department store, and discount store she went to. Folder always got a warm, fluttery feeling when his owner would whip him out on an aisle of one of the stores (Walgreen's was his favorite) and begin filing through for just the right coupon. Most of the time, even Folder didn't know what she was looking for, and certainly no one else could have followed her train of thought as she happened to catch a glimpse of a yellow sale ad taped to a shelf. Even if she tried to explain how buying the ZipFizz would actually save her $3 off her transaction, the response was usually, "I'll take your word for it."

Folder got used to the quick transfers from purse to cart handle, out of Baby's Herculean grip, onto the floor, back to cart handle for half a second before being set unceremoniously on an empty portion of a shelf for some serious fileage. But always he would leave the store safely tucked into his owner's humongous purse that also served as a diaper bag, smiling softly to himself as he thought of all the money he had had so noble a part in saving his owner.

One day Folder got to ride with the owner's entire family to a very cool grocery store. The owners didn't usually shop there because their prices were so much higher than Aldi's, but today was TRIPLE COUPON DAY at the fancy grocery store. Folder was so excited. He never got out at Aldi, but at the fancy grocery store, he was pulled out at almost every stop. You see, this purchase would be especially complicated because the store allowed only 6 coupons per transaction. So Folder's owner and her husband were checking out separately with different coupons. All this made for loads of excitement. Folder's owner had made a list on the Internet from the store's ad of the things that were a good deal and that she had a coupon for. The store let them print this list at a special kiosk, so it saved the owners from using their own paper.

With list in one hand and Folder in the other the owner and her family navigated the fancy grocery store making the most they could of Triple Coupon Day and the store's plentiful B1G1 sales. The last stop was the juice aisle to get a certain brand of pomegranate juice. Since it was the last stop, the owners were both preoccupied with distributing the right products to the right cart and lining up the corresponding coupons. Folder chuckled to himself as he envisioned how happy his owners would be when they looked at the receipts and saw what their savings had been. He also wished he could do something to entertain the baby who was getting restless.

It must have been the confusion of transferring items; maybe it was the fact that the juice on sale and the intended coupon did not coincide as originally planned; or maybe it was the baby's eagerness for the cart to start rolling again. Whatever it was, Folder watched in silent dismay as both his owners and the baby pulled out of the juice aisle and headed for the check-out to triple the piddly few coupons they clutched in their hands while he sat there stuffed full of hundreds more.

Folder could not have known what was happening back at the owners' house. How they glibly made the entire trip home not even noticing his absence from his usual place in the humongous diaper bag purse. All through an entire Sunday, Folder knew it would not be likely that he would be missed. Rarely did his owner utilize him on that day. Folder would have been relieved to see the utter dismay and even horror on the face of his beloved owner when at last, on Monday, the sickening truth dawned upon her, "I left my Coupon Folder in Bloom!"

In great loneliness Folder sat at the lost and found at the fancy grocery store, ignorant that at that very moment, his owner, with heart pounding, was making a call to Barbara at Bloom. In response to Barbara's inquiry as to how she could make the owner happy, the owner began to explain her loss. Folder whiled away the hours in the store safe waiting for the less and less likely arrival of his owner. How could he have know that the owner's husband was working in a different location than normal and absolutely could not swing by that day? How could Folder have possibly anticipated a return to a normal schedule the following day that would result in the happy reunion with the owner's husband, and at the end of the work day, with his beloved owner herself? But that is exactly what happened to Folder.

And if Folder could talk, I suppose his bit of wisdom for all of us would be, "I suppose you'll be more careful now, won't you?"