WOOLCO NEVER PULLED WOOL OVER HIS EYES
From Purchaser to Protester: Kid Calls Bullshit on Department Store’s Publicity Stunt
My younger brother was a good reader.
On the day I remember, he was TOO good.
We went with my dad to the local Woolco Department Store. Woolco was a national chain, an offshoot of Woolworth’s.
My father grabbed a multi-pack of T-shirts. Dad said we could each choose a candy bar in the checkout line.
I remember the mid-1970s cash registers. Those machines had big number buttons that popped up like arithmetic flashcards. Then, lots of “ka-CHING” sounds followed by a cash drawer flying open.
Our teen girl cashier seemed new. She struggled with the hard-to-push number buttons on the cash register. Her meek voice barely registered as she counted change.
(Back then, no one got away with saying, “Here’s your change” and plopping a pile of coins in your palm without explanation.)
Female store employees in the 1970s often looked like artists. They’d wear smocks over their blouses. Stores liked having all their ladies (sort of) wearing a uniform. The women put up with the loose-fitting shirt/jackets because each one had two lower front pockets.
On this day, all employees had dollar bills pinned to their fronts. Then a ribbon had some tempting dare like “George Could Be Yours!”
Signs were in each checkout lane. “We want to be your favorite store. If our employees don’t say ‘Thank you for shopping at Woolco,’ it costs them a dollar.”
I looked behind me, to see if my first-grader brother had disappeared. Surprisingly not. He was clutching his future Hershey bar while studying the checker.
She stuffed Dad’s shirts in a sack and rang up our chocolate.
The last words I heard were “Here’s your change. Thanks…”
That’s when the shout heard ‘round the store rang out.
“Wait, Dad, wait!” Matt cried. “She didn’t say her speech.”
Dad shrugged. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”
“NO!” Matt growled. “She’s supposed to say that whole ‘Thank you for shopping at Woolco’ stuff. Her tag says if she doesn’t do it, I win the dollar.”
Matt pointed at the checker’s chest. “I should get that money. I caught you. You heard her, too, didn’t you, Tom?”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”
The teen trembled, then squeaked out, “I said thanks…”
Matt shook his head. “You didn’t say it right.”
I could hear shoppers in line reacting. Giggles over Matt’s protest contrasted with ladies saying, “Oh, my…” or “I never!”
The teen’s face grew pale. Matt’s face grew grim.
“Is there a problem here? What’s going on?” A man with a clipboard wearing a plastic pocket pencil pouch appeared.
The teen groaned. Before she could fib a defense, my dad grabbed Matt’s hand.
“Gotta go. Thanks!” Dad called to everyone.
He pulled Matt into the breezeway, the store’s enclosed entrance where rows of gumball and toy machines stood. For the first time ever, Matt wasn’t mooching change.
Matt looked at Dad. “Am I in trouble?” he asked.
Dad flashed a smile, soft smile. “No, Matt. You were right. I heard it, too.”
Matt clenched both fists. “I knew it!” he proclaimed. “Let’s go get the money.”
Dad knelt in front of Matt, grabbing both of his shoulders.
“The girl just started her job, Matt,” he said. “She was nervous. If her boss caught her making that mistake, he might fire her.”
Matt sighed. “It’s not my fault she forgot.”
Dad patted Matt’s shoulder. “That’s right. Now, we need to go, and to let her try to keep her job. But before we leave, I wanted you to come out here so I could give you something.”
He pulled out his wallet. “Here. This dollar should be yours. You earned it.”
Matt frowned. “But that’s your money, not hers.”
Dad shook his head. Matt started to smile slowly.
“You’re giving me this because I caught her?”
Dad pushed the dollar closer to Matt. “Maybe. Mostly, I’m giving you this because you helped someone in trouble. I’m giving you this because I’m proud of you.”
Matt latched onto the dollar with both hands. “Thanks, Dad. Oh, Dad…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you and Tom for shopping at Woolco!”
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