So I needed a new memory card lickity-split if I was going to catpure any priceless political moments without lugging my whole camcorder kit around. I had already ordered one on the cheap from some online bulk distributor, but he’s taking his sweet time getting the thing to me — and why buy one memory card when you could have a backup — so the other day, before heading to another bloggerati get-together, I jumped online again (like I’m ever offline) and ordered one from Best Buy™ that serendipitously had just gone on quite the sale. It was about 4:30pm, I was still at the office and smelling none-too-fresh, and I had to be at Manuel’s at 6:00: just enough time to get home, get clean, and swing by the Edgewood Best Buy for an in-store pickup option.

I printed out my invoice as it arrived once I got home and, so fresh ‘n’ so clean clean, I gathered up my nerd toys and headed out the door. 5:32pm.

There’s never a good way around rush hour traffic. After cussing out several random drivers I was passing Manuel’s on the way to Best Buy at 5:45. (Yeah, only 13 minutes, but we’re talking like a mile here, people.)

The Edgewood Best Buy does not have the special parking spaces for In-Store Pickup. This should have been my first clue. 5:54.

As instructed by my print-out invoice, I asked the nice, volkswagen-sized man at the front desk to point me to In-Store Pickup, and he waved a honey-baked ham of an arm off to the back: “Right side of that counter.” I hustled over to the customer service zone of purgatory, which had the Geek Squad on one side, Returns & Exchanges, and oh look! In-Store Pickup, as the sign said on the dedicated cash register. I stood eagerly in front of it, waiting for someone to do their job. 5:55

6:01 Two people have asked me if I’m in line for Returns & Exchanges, and I’ve said, No, I’m here for a pickup, go on ahead, and they’ve gotten in line behind the five other frustrated morons who let their kids put pop tarts in the DVD player, all of whom are waiting on the sole customer “service” representative to finish processing his current customer who apparently requires seventeen levels of managerial approval, with whom he is on the phone now, and where in Jesus Christ’s holy name is whomever is supposed to work this desk?

6:02 Hey big man, is anyone actually working the In-Store Pickup desk? I ask the sweating volkswagen. “Naw, you gotsta get in that laaaahn,” shaking his head in a slow orbital maneuver. Behind all those other product-returning wankers and their bullcrap? “Yeah, maaaan.” But what the hell is the point of a quick In-Store Pickup if I can just go get the damn thing off the rack and — “Sorry, maaan.” Is there a manager around here, fer Chrissakes? “MMmmmrrffggghhhhh!” (I believe that meant it was his feeding time, but before he could find hiz bukket, he did call for somebody on the radio that was wedged under his right man-boob.)

6:05No sign of a manager. Best Buy has my memory card hostage, and either I wait in line for what will easily be 45 minutes, or I buy a new one and get the hell out of there. A second jerkoff has arrived at the Returns & Exchanges desk, and while stuck-on-phone-boy is still dealing with the lady who’s returning Russian plutonium or something, the second of the eight returners is being dealt with. One of the people in line, clearly also waiting to pick something up, has left in disgust.

6:06 I find the damn memory card the old fashioned way. There are three registers open, all tending to someone. I wait in the cattle pen.

6:08 Apparently, everyone in front of me is also buying Russian plutonium, which they will return at a several-hour appointment on a later date. The cashiers are all staring mouth-agape at their machines, scratching at the touch-screens with 2-inch talons, processing what must be their first credit card ever. I take a little solace in the fact that the status quo at the Returns & Exchanges desk has not changed.

I escape with my purchase at 6:10 without cussing anyone out. I thank Baby Jesus. I arrive only 15 minutes late at Manuel’s.

Now, I still have a backup-backup memory card being held hostage at Best Buy. My email to their Customer Service department has vaporized into the void. I’m going to have to go down there on the weekend, pick up my purchase, which lucky for me will be right there at the Returns & Exchanges desk, because I’m going to return it on the spot to get my damn money back.

“Reason for return?” Oh, sit down, let me just tell you.



Read more filed under Geekery, Rant, Weirdos