The end of every summer brings with it a crashing realization, followed by an adrenaline-starved sense of urgency: I need one last hurrah.
My target: Staples, Simsbury, CT.
I slinked in with my accomplice. Together we wove through aisle after aisle, casting furtive glances from left to right until we reached the back of the store. There, we spied our coveted cache: a table overflowing with spiral notebooks, in every color of the rainbow. Fastened to the table, a sign: “$0.25 each. Limit 30 per customer.”
I leaned in to my accomplice. “OK, Mom. Here’s how this is going to play out. You take 30 notebooks, see? Then you get in line at register 3. Meanwhile, I’ll take my 30, and I’ll go to register 1. I’ll cut you a check when the deal is done. Remember: BE COOL. We’re not together. We don’t know each other from Adam. Got it?”
“Got it, Boss,” Mom said. She stole away with her cart full of booty, wheels screeching at every turn.
I casually strode over to register 1, the back-to-school music competing against my racing heart. I dropped my contraband, made from 100% recycled paper, onto the counter with a thud.
The conveyor belt began to roll. There was no turning back.
The cashier began counting the notebooks, one at a time.
One…two…three…
I glanced at my mom. She was chatting airily with the cashier, looking nonchalant.
…eight…nine…ten…
Around me, the drone of conversation. The beeping of scanners. Fluorescent lights searing into my brain.
“…seventeen….eighteen….nineteen…”
Suddenly, the cashier stopped counting. He drew his price gun to his side and stared. We locked eyes. His eyes narrowed. I inhaled and waited.
“Ma’am, did you realize some of these are college-ruled and others are wide-ruled?”
“It’s cool.” I exhaled. “Just count the notebooks and put them in a bag, and no one gets hurt.”
He pointed his price gun at the next notebook and resumed.
“twenty-two…twenty-three…twenty-four…”
Euphoria began to set in.
“….twenty-seven….twenty-eight…twenty-nine…”
We did it! We actually pulled it off! Sixty notebooks for $15, and they were mine–all mine! I spied the nearest exit and prepared for our getaway.
Suddenly, from across the store, I heard the call like an air horn blasting through hypnosis.
“MERRI, HON, DID YOU KNOW SOME OF THESE NOTEBOOKS ARE WIDE-RULED AND SOME OF THEM ARE COLLEGE-RULED?”
The music stopped. The counting ceased. The conveyor belt came to a grinding halt.
Never entrust your mom with your last hurrah.