Goodbye forever,, Target. It’s over. Done. You’ve given up on us, and I’m fine. Really, I’m not going to cry.
Because you see, Target, I’m remembering things now. Without the diverting allure of your one-dollar section or hypnotic glare of your fluorescent lights, I can finally see clearly.
I remember the time you somehow convinced me I needed a cupcake decorating kit when I had no kitchen. I remember the way your candy was just slightly overpriced.
I remember that one afternoon I came in looking for colored pencils and left with floral paper napkins, a cashmere plum scented candle, Valentine’s Day on DVD and three different kinds of nail polish.
And it wasn’t even the fact that I found the plot to Valentine’s Day stupid and Ashton Kutcher’s character infuriating that made me angry. Or the realization 26 hours later that I forgot to buy colored pencils.
It was the fact that three hours had gone by, day had turned into night, and I completely forgot where I parked my car. Nothing is more embarrassing than wandering aimlessly through a parking lot, knowing full well that several Target employees are watching your every pathetic move and not even trying to hide their laughter.
Truth be told, your bakery section is nonexistent, and your aisle numbers are confusing.
So, it’s okay that you’re leaving. Honestly, it’s for the best. Sure, I will miss your 99 cent face masks and the way you always smelled like movie theater popcorn. I will miss your perfectly stocked shelves and the pristine condition of your bathrooms.
I will miss the understanding smile of your cashier whenever I bought a pint of ice cream and a single spoon, and the comfort of devouring it in my car three minutes later.
You were always unapologetically optimistic, like how you had an entire CD section as if everyone doesn’t download music onto their phones.
And I won’t pretend I didn’t love you, Target. Maybe I still do. I know you loved me. You showed me my potential, giving me a list of all the things I will buy once I get an actual job.
I could be someone who owned five different types of scented hand sanitizer. Maybe one day I’ll have a home and stock it with the entire Magnolia Homes Collection. That could be me. I could be that person.
And as we say our final goodbyes all of these questions keep floating around in my head. Where will I go when I need wood accented picture frames? How will I adjust to my new exclusive relationship with Walmart? Why isn’t the entire store 50% off now that you’re closing?
As Feb. 3 approaches, I can’t help but reminisce about our time together. The good and the bad. I know we will see each other again. Until then I will meet you in cyberspace, while you fuel my online shopping addiction. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.
A Goodbye Letter to Target
Sophomore Makayla Brooks visits Target before its official close.
