Swallow It Down, Like a Jagged Little Pill

Most people seem to have a love affair with Target.  While I love it myself, I’m not so sure I would call it an affair.  You see, the Target in my hometown was there as long as I could remember it.  (It has since been torn down and replaced with a bright, shiny SuperTarget).   In fact, it was there as long as my mother could remember it.   Which pretty much means before she married my father and that was a good four years prior to my arrival in the world. 

So, it stands to reason that my first trips to the land of bullseyes were, in fact, in utero.  From the womb it welcomed me.  I accepted.  To me, the love I have for Target is more like that of a family member–it’s always been there–than an affair, which would be newer, fresher.  Target has always been there for me.  And it’s only let me down once.

When I was about 11 years old, my mom and I went on a fairly routine trip to Target.  And for whatever reason, I was given a treat that day.  Oh who am I kidding? I’m sure it was because I was always such a charming, well-behaved child.

I opted to try Target newest offering at the snack bar–frozen yogurt.  Remember the early 90’s when fro-yo was a newer tasty treat?  Being me, I went for chocolate, with coconut sprinkled on top.  The coconut sat in a little plastic tub, right next to the sprinkles and candies.  I happily skipped off to find my mother at the checkouts, enjoying my treat.  Except for one thing–the coconut was really dry, sitting out in the open like that.  It was kind of scratchy.

I offered my mom a bite, who felt the same thing.  Later she said it almost felt like knives going down her throat.  Off we headed to home, where we proceeded to unpack our purchases and I proceeded  to feel an irritation in the back of my throat.  It felt like it was scratched or something.  I kept trying to figure out what was going on back there, and finally went to the bathroom mirror armed with a flashlight. 

There, protruding from my tonsil, was a little coconut flake.  As my dad and sister tried to help my dislodge it, and I ate bananas, bread and drank water trying to force it out, my mother called Target, not because we are litigious people, but to tell them they might want to think about their coconut storage.  Instead, she was told to take me to the ER and have them bill Target for the trouble.  Score one for the bullseye.

Want to make people laugh?  Walk into an ER and calmly explain that your daughter has a piece of coconut stuck in her throat.  Oh yeah,  guaranteed laughs and “You’re a nutter” looks.  Yet my mother persisted and finally, I was on a gurney as a doctor used a looong pair of tweezers to pluck the coconut out. 

“It IS a piece of cococut,” he exclaimed, holding up a not-so-shrivled piece tinged with blood.  My mother glared at him.  The coconut had been so dry, it shrank.  As it sat in my mouth and was prodded with water, it had expanded. 

The next time we went back to Target, the coconut for the fro-yo was in a canister, covered.  You can’t say they don’t learn from their mistakes.  My mother never heard about the bill or had any trouble.  That’s the way a good Minnesota company rolls. 

As for me, well I still love frozen yogurt, coconut and, even more so, Target.