I hope I don’t come off sounding like some kind of shill here, but for me, shopping at Target is the most beautiful, sensuous, sublime, satisfying, erotic and profoundly fulfilling experience I have in life. I try to go every Saturday.

I shop at Cleveland’s Cedar-Warrensville Target, in that nutty shopping complex with the Kaufmann’s and Giant Eagle. When we first went, we got lost in the multi-tiered garage numerous times, but, like rats struggling through a maze, we eventually reached the cheese, which is Target. When I think cheese, I think wine and cheese, and thus I think France. So, it’s hardly a coincidence that many people refer to Target as “Tar-jay.”

I first became addicted to Target for the values. I have in my pants drawer three pairs of Wrangler jeans. Jeans that I bought at the Target Men’s and Young Fellas department for 15 bucks apiece.

You think I care that these jeans don’t have “Levi Strauss” emblazoned on their butts? (Or, god forbid, some asswipe designer’s name.) Am I missing something here? I can go to Target and fill my jean needs — for years — for under 50 bucks. I sit here, mouth ajar, marveling at how anyone could do anything else with their pants money!

I got a package of two red-hot sexy Hanes v-neck t-shirts for $2.12. I’m still cackling over that sweet deal. Then I bought one white and one black sweatshirt for $4.99 per. Sweatshirts, done, less than 10 bucks (not including Ohio sales tax). Sweatshirts I can wear to work! “You could get a sweatshirt for a dollar at a resale shop,” you say. Sorry, I don’t wear dead men’s sweatshirts. I’ll buy new, and still plenty cheap.

But my favorite Target activity is hooking up with toiletries and over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. I get Target brand mouthwash, body wash, shave gel, the whole shmear, except for my special Vive bald-guy shampoo. And my eye drops. I have a Visine eyedrop caddy stuck to my bathroom wall, and only Visine bottles fit in it. It’s certainly not because I haven’t been pleased with my Target-brand eyedrop purchases! It’s just a caddy thing.

I like how Target doesn’t try to work its name into their brand products, as Walgreens does. Wal-bupropen this, Wal-enema that. Just Target brand pain relievers and sinus dryers, simple and dignified. Plus Target pharmacy people don’t hover. Once at CVS I was in the sinus meds aisle, and a clerk was giving me the hairy eyeball, suspecting I was some scumbag looking to score some pseudophedrine for my meth lab. “You can’t get that here, you have to get it from the pharmacist,” she informed me coldly. None of that nonsense at Target, with its atmosphere of trust.

It’s all about the atmosphere. I am convinced it’s so pleasant to shop there because, and this is important, it is silent. No stale-beyond-stale ’60s oldies, no ’70s singer-songwriter, James Taylor-meets-Loggins and Messina shit that makes you want to hang yourself in the herbal supplement aisle. Nothing. I share this theory with people, and they look at me strangely, because clearly they haven’t given it much thought. But it’s sheer genius.

So after getting our pharmacy needs taken care of, we push the shopping cart to the escalator for yet another highlight of the Target experience: giving our cart its own escalator ride. At first, I was bashful about fitting the cart’s wheels on the runners, feeling I could very easily make a fool of myself in the attempt and, humiliated, have to resort to rolling it to the elevator. Look at the schmuck, he can’t get his cart hooked up! Or, worse, it would get stuck mid-journey, and I would have to hail an associate for help. But now, after much practice, I’m an escalator stallion.

Anyway, I stand proudly on the escalator, right smack next to my cart, peeking sideways at it to check up on it periodically during the ride. How you doing over there, buddy? That’s what I’m thinking. I time it so the cart and I pop out at top at precisely the same moment. It’s fun.

Upstairs we look at all the electronics, the TVs, the new DVDs, everything. Beyond these are the groceries, where we always score a mixed nut deal, and get Post Raisin Bran for considerably less than at a grocery store. Ritz and Triscuit, too. Loss leaders!

Now, sometimes all that shopping makes you hungry. May I recommend the snack bar’s Target Dog Combo, one hot dog and medium drink for two dollars. Two dollars.

“You get what you pay for,” you sneer. Hardly. This is a kosher beef dog, quality all the way. I was stunned when I bit into my first one. My only quibble is they are no brown mustard packs in the Target snack bar, but to be fair, yellow will do in a pinch. So I can’t get too down on T for that.

E-mail: This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ; website: ericbroder.com

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