Let me begin by saying that I’m aware of my own insignificance in all of this. Target is worth tens of billions of dollars and I still roll my toothpaste tube to get every smear of my money’s worth from it. But that is what makes this so goddamn frustrating.

Here’s the synopsis: I go to Target to buy some new earbuds. They don’t have them but can order them and ship them to my house. I say yes, pay the $213.24, and wait. I get an email that my package has delivered, look outside… no package. I call customer service and they essentially tell me “too bad” and I’m out $213.24 and have no earbuds to show for it.

Now, I’m as laid back as they come. I avoid conflict and prefer the peace of mind afforded by not bothering with petty squabbles. But this hit me differently. So, that said, I’m going proceed to rip into Target for this, but tastefully. Here is the profanity key to decode my frustration level throughout this blog:

Swear Key

• Fuck (as an exclamation): “goodness”
• Fuck (as a noun or verb): “smoke”
• Motherfuckers: “ninny baddies”
• Shit: “flarg”
• Goddamned: “lilly-hopping”

What really set me off is how they told me that they were passively robbing me (which in itself is a pretty gangster thing to do, I must admit). They sent me an email which included other sentences but mostly this one: “After reviewing the order and tracking details, we consider this to be a successful delivery,” which to me, felt the same as if it had said, “We realize we didn’t ship you anything. We didn’t feel like it. Them’s the breaks though. Thanks for the cash, dummy.”

Goodness! To be fair, this delivery was successful as a ninny baddie for Target. They proceeded to pocket $213.24 of my dollars and not do a lilly-hopping thing for it. On my end though – not so successful. In fact, I asked the customer service lady what constitutes a “successful delivery” for them and she said, “what do you mean?” And I said (more slowly and deliberately this time), “what does it mean for a delivery to be successful for Target?” To which she replied, “I don’t know. The policy is on our website.”

As the murder urges percolated in my foreconscious, I couldn’t help but let out a slight giggle. I’m not sure if it was the thought of her actually expecting me to scour the website for the ‘smoke-you’ clause in their delivery policy, or the fleeting and overreactive mental image of gently nudging this person off of a cliff to her death.

Honestly, though. what type of horseflarg business decision is being made here, Target? Just look at all the demographic and purchase info you’ve collected from my rewards account. I’m a 40-year-old father of a toddler and the main grocery shopper in my household. How many departments do you need me to hit before I get the benefit of the doubt? I spent $200 just in diapers and wipes like a month ago. And now you think I’ve turned to a life of crime? I was just waiting for my 40^th birthday and fatherhood to start swindling on the side? I’m just that dude who scams department stores $200 at a time for free merch and black-market profits? Really?

What really kills me though is that I love Target. I (like many of you) used to go in there for a greeting card and come out with a family pack of Reese’s Eggs, some new glassware and sheets, the complete restocking of my toiletry cabinet, and a kombucha. And now, because y’all want to be petty about $213.24, I have to go out of my way and shop more inconveniently out of spite. It’s a principle thing now so that’s what I have to do but I’d much rather you just refund my lilly-hopping money or replace my smoking earbuds so I can continue frivolously throwing money at your registers.

Oh, and get this… After my customer service call, I received another email expressing their regret that they weren’t able to solve my issue, and suggested that I try in-store pick up next time. Goodness! The ninny badding balls on Target are astounding. Firstly, you absolutely are incredibly able to solve my issue – like, crazily-stupidly-ridiculously able to solve this problem. You are unwilling to, but certainly not unable. Secondly (and I’m grinning at the gall of this), to offer the recommendation that I take my punk ass to the store and pick up my own flarg next time, when this whole scenario began with me at a physical Target location that was out of stock of said flarg, is a level of tone-deafness or smoke-you-ity which transcends mere policy and treks into the realm of personal affront.

So, Target… your application for war with me over $213.24 (while very confusing) has been accepted. I’ll see you in Hell, ninny baddie!