Pretending Gone Somewhat Amiss

One day last month I headed to the mall to walk with a friend. I left home early so I could do a little Christmas shopping first. Little did I know the depths to which I could sink just to find a couple more presents to put under the tree.

I pulled into the Sam’s Club lot about nine and walked up to the door. A large notice informed me that I was not welcome. The hours had changed. Only “Plus” members were being served at this time. Regular members would have to wait till 10. I couldn’t get in until after I walked, and that would make me late for lunch.

A kind lady saw me turn around at the door and sensed my plight. She said, “Pretend you’re with me.” I could do that. Bonnie was cooking up one of my favorites, and I sure wanted to make it home on time.

I have to say it was a little weird, though. I hoped my face mask hid my guilty look. I walked with my new friend 15 or 20 feet past the check-in lady, just in case she was watching us. Then I subtly swung to the left while my partner in crime went straight. Not even time for a proper goodbye.

I walked around the store checking out the inventory. It was great until I realized that if I did buy anything, I would have to show them a Plus card at check out. I’d be busted. Crime not only doesn’t pay; it also doesn’t purchase.

I started to feel like all the other customers (that would be Plus customers) were looking down on me over their carts. I wondered how they could know I wasn’t one of them. And there was no remedy I could think of. If I went to the front desk to upgrade, I’d be busted for being in there in the first place. I even considered looking up the lady I came in with and pretending I was still with her, then decided against it. Though it might have cured her of falsely elevating anybody else’s status in the future.

I finally slinked out the door, bearing no gifts. I cut a couple laps from my mall walk and went back to Sam’s as a regular member. They didn’t even check my card. When I took my purchases to the cash register, I noticed I could upgrade to a Plus membership for 15 bucks. Wow, that’s cheap! If I would’ve only known this before.

I drove home with a growling stomach, still late for lasagna and blaming it on Sam Walton for changing the times on me. I thought more about Plus membership, though, and wondered if that same principle could be applied to other areas of life.

For example, if members of the congregation at church paid $15 above their tithes, they could sit in their own section. The seats would have extra padding and special pew pockets with bottled water and snacks. Peanuts and pastel butter mints in little paper cups would be good. No one else could sit there. (Well, I suppose they could slip in with a Plus parishioner.)

This concept might also be good on the home front for husbands. It would probably cost more than $15, though. One possible perk—just throwing this out there—could be getting a pass if their wife catches them doing “guy things.” Like drinking straight from the milk carton or sweeping dirt under the furniture. Maybe even cherry-picking Brazil nuts from the nuts-and-bolts snack mix. The wife would be forced to let it go, though she may demand to see his card.

Now you know where I sometimes go when I pretend. I sneak my way into stores, I imply we can buy God’s favor, and I dare to think of taxing Bonnie’s patience even more. (Yes, the guy in the example was me.) If you ever run into me on the street, you might be better off if you just pretend you don’t know me.