I walked into Kohl’s this morning with $60 in Kohl’s Cash, a sense of purpose, and the kind of optimism that only someone who hasn’t yet spoken to their customer service department can possess. My plan was simple: buy two sweaters, leave feeling accomplished, and maybe even get home in time to live the rest of my life.
Naturally, none of that happened.
I started at the Tommy Hilfiger sweaters—buy one, get one half off. Beautiful. Tempting. Beacons of preppy joy. But then I wandered over to the Izod section, where the sweaters were cheaper and marked down another 20 percent. It felt responsible. Mature. Financially savvy. So I grabbed two Izods and headed for the register.
This is where Kohl’s decided to play games with me.
The cashier scanned my sweaters and informed me that, between rewards points and Kohl’s Cash, I actually had ninety dollars. Ninety. At that moment, I absolutely wished I’d gone with the Tommy sweaters, but I told myself I’d made the smart choice. Sensible. Practical. Adulting at its finest.
I paid, went to my car, and prepared to move forward with my day. Except I couldn’t, because during my stroll around the men’s department, I’d also gone looking for Levi’s in the incredibly specific size 30×34. The Levi’s employee explained that while the store didn’t carry that mystical unicorn of a size, I could get it online for the same $49.99 price. Perfect. Easy. Foolproof.
I sat in my car, opened the Kohl’s app, and bought the jeans.
And the app happily ignored the fact that I had $25 in remaining rewards.
So I called customer service.
The connection was crystal clear on my end, but on her end it sounded like she was phoning me from inside a dryer full of spoons. I repeated myself endlessly because I knew if I hung up, I’d spend another thirty minutes trying to get someone else on the line. We finally got the rewards situation sorted out. I was seconds away from freedom when I looked down and noticed a 40 percent off coupon that expired today.
Of course, I asked about it.
She told me she couldn’t apply it to the Levi’s since they were already on sale, but I could go back inside and use it on something else. So, like the obedient bargain-chaser I apparently am, I marched back into Kohl’s.
I grabbed the Tommy Hilfiger sweaters I had emotionally abandoned an hour earlier. With my 40 percent coupon in hand, I waited in a line that lasted about fifteen minutes and presented my sweaters to the cashier… only to be told that Tommy Hilfiger is an excluded brand.
Of course it is.
But then she offered a creative solution: I could go back out to my car, return the Izod sweaters I’d just purchased, come back inside, and rebuy them using the 40 percent coupon. This made no sense. Absolutely none. Which is precisely why I did it.
I trekked back outside, retrieved the sweaters and my receipt, came back in, waited in an even longer line—now closer to twenty-five minutes—and explained everything to the original cashier.
She listened, nodded, typed a few things, and then delivered the final blow: I couldn’t use the 40 percent coupon because I’d used Kohl’s Cash on the original purchase. It didn’t matter that I was returning the items. Kohl’s Cash had tainted the entire transaction like a cursed relic.
I took my sweaters and left the store a broken but wiser woman.
When I got home, I couldn’t decide whether I’d gotten a deal or lost four hours of my life to a department store that runs on coupons, chaos, and a vague sense of emotional manipulation. It may have been the most absurd shopping trip I’ve ever taken. And that includes the time I accidentally bought jeggings thinking they were “flex denim.”
Kohl’s won today. But I will rise again.
Absurdities and Fires 