I was recently told to put pen to paper and write this story. I assume it is because future generations will be writing blue book essays ala The Iliad in hisgh school English calsses.
Buying your first home is both an exhilarating and terrifying moment in your life. It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago that my wife and I were buying our first home. Having been renters all of our life, we had the requisite furniture to fill our new home, but didn’t have a lot of appliances, specifically…the bigger appliance.
I did the normal guy thing…researching stoves, fridges, and dishwashers. Spoke to friends. Asked the contractor. Drove to Sears, then to Lowe’s, then to Home Depot, then to…then to…then to…. Best Buy. I have to admit, I ma not much of a technology junky. At the time, I didn’t have a cell phone that connected to the web, no iPod…hell I didn’t even have a home stereo system. So a trip to a store like Best Buy was pretty rare. I compared prices, trying to use apples to apples when doing so and came to a shocking conclusion…Best Buy did indeed have the best buy. Plus I could go to one store to get everything that we needed…a washer, dryer, fridge, stove and a TV. Plus, they had a free delivery and take a way program for the old stuff that was in our new house. Plus, we could sign up for the Best Buy credit card and get an extra 10% off the most expensive item. I thought we had really hit the mother load. However, we had come late on a Thursday and neither my wife not I were in any mood to “go through the hassle” of buying so many things.
Armed with my printout of the items we wanted, Lisa and I return to Best Buy. Walked in, spoke to a sales person and picked out a washer and a dryer. Almost no questions asked. Paid and scheduled delivery for the day before we planned to move in. Awesome. The sales associate asked if it was ok for her to “pass me off” cause it was past her time to leave. With a wave she pointed me to her colleague a few rows away
Upon entering the “stove section,” a new sales associate quickly greeted me. The term associate is a much too nice. Sales Moron or Mental Midget Associate would have sufficed. I asked, why is this stove and this stove different prices? She was, not surprisingly, unable to give me one difference of substance. She did inform me that they were both white.
Let me digress for a moment. There is a reason for stereotypes. Whether we like it or not, when some one says ____ we think ___. She was a stereotype. Stereotypes that don’t hold up, well…just go away. Anyway. You know what I mean.
So the Sales Associate is a larger black woman. I can’t recall her name, but she was older and enjoyed calling me honey, sweetie and dear. It was awesome. Her hair was gigantic (more in height than width) and her fake nails were long and amazingly colorful. Her fingers looked like the 4th of July vomited on them. Did I mention she was loud? As in, very loud.
After reading the little 5 x 5 card that gave the details of each oven, Lisa and I decided on the GE version. It didn’t have the simmer function that other had, but it did have a rapid boil and two (count them) TWO outlets on the control panel to plug in…I don’t know, a vacuum or lava lamp? We were happy with our decision and asked to purchase it.
As some of you may know, when you purchase smaller items (CD, movies, ear phones, cables, etc.) you take your purchase directly to the cashier at the front of the store. However, when purchasing an item that requires it to be picked up, delivered or is generally more expensive, the associate that helped you is the one to “ring it up” at her little kiosk. As we prepare to put down our hard earned cash, our sales associate tells us how lucky we are to be buying this stove today. She has been given the authority (pronounced ah-tor-atee) to extend an offer that had ended last weekend. She knew we would be ecstatic to hear this and she was…beside herself.
Best Buy, in conjunction with the local cable provider (Pretty sure it was Charter), was offering anyone that made a single purchase of over $250 dollars to receive a rebate for the cost of their purchase (up to $400) if they signed up for a 2 year subscription for their new-fangled faster than dial up internet services at $39.00 a month! She mentioned that, “her daughter just signed up and got her fridge…for free!” It took me a minute to do the mental calculations, and politely told her, “no thanks.”
Her rebuttal? “But it is free?” It took me a second…it really did. I didn’t know if I should punch her in the throat or give her a hug. I again asserted that I didn’t want to sign up for this “great offer” as in the long run…it will cost me more than to just buy the fridge. At this point, I would have just stopped. No need to get into it with the lady, right? There was a one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…then she says it. “That’s the dumbest decision anyone has ever made.”
I turned. I stood as tall as I could to emphasis the awesomeness of the point I was about to make and began…
Me: “do you understand that it is a 2 year contract?”
Her: “yes.”
Me: Do you understand that you will be paying $39.00 a month for the next two years for said services?”
Her: “yes.”
Me: “Do you understand that by the time you have completed your obligation you will have paid nearly $1,000 in fees.
Her: “well…”
Me: “I currently pay $15.00 for the same service. That is a difference of $24.00. I would be paying $24 MORE a month than I am now…do you understand that?”
Her: But the stove is still free…”
Me: No it isn’t. I will have paid $576 in extra Internet fees for a $400 stove.
Her: “well, no… the stove would be free today and you would only have to pay $39.00 per month…”
Me: “NO. NO…no that is not how it works. In the end, I will have paid more for my stove and Internet service than had I just bought the stove…not to mention the fees I would accrue on inertest…”
Her: Blank stare
Me: “Soooo, I’ll just take the stove now.”
At this point, the wife and I are tired. We left and decide to come back tomorrow…a Saturday! I figured, we could get in, get out…quit fu*kin about and be on our way by mid morning. Since we were using up cash faster than we wanted, we decided to purchase the fridge on credit, specifically a Best Buy card that would allow us to receive 15% off our first purchase.
Lisa and I walked directly to the fridges; again we just needed to choose between 2 or 3 that we thought we liked. I walked right up to a sales person and asked two questions
1. Can you help me?
2. Can I sign up for a Best Buy card from you?
He answered yes to both questions. He showed us the various fridges and explained the pros/cons. After approx 40 minutes, we made our decision. Things were going very well. And then it happened. I asked to fill out an application for the Best Buy Card. He handed it to me and said, “take it to customer service and they will help you.”
We all know that customer service wants nothing to do with customers and hates having to provide a service, so I was pissed. I asked the salesperson why he said “yes, when I asked if I could sign up for a card with him” and he answered, “you CAN sign up with me, but customer service has to process the application. Before you can buy something, you have to get approved.” He told me that he would place the fridge on HOLD for me, as it was the last one. “Just come on back and find me when you guys are ready, I’ll get you out of here ASAP.”
OK. Makes some sense to me. I was not too upset. But, had we known ahead of time, I would have sent Lisa over to fill out the application and get approved so we could save time. Off to customer service we go to get the card. Waited. Handed in the completed information sheet and was told, “thanks, come back in 1 hour.”
SIXTY effing minutes? WTF? We had been there nearly one hour already. We knew what we wanted to buy. Now what were supposed to do? It wasn’t even close to lunchtime. We decided to “look around.” Looking around in a store where you don’t want to buy anything sucks ass. Lisa went down to Old Navy and shopped. We went to Starbucks…Bed, Bath and Beyond as well. I wanted to kill myself. I began envisioning a quiet death that would bring me to a better place.
We returned dutifully in 60 minutes and were given the approval for our new credit card. Yaaaaayyyyy. The person took out a cardboard-ish faux credit card, had wrote my name and the account number. For good measure, there was an expiration date of two weeks also written. Very official looking. This was not a random piece of paper; it had BEST BUY temporary card stamped on the top. We then walked back towards the fridge section and looked for our “friend.”
When I saw the friendly sales person, he asked me to return to the “appliance kiosk” to wait for the next available sales person. Seems reasonable. I asked if there was a sign in sheet or number system. His answer, “Nope, we just know.”
Upon finding the kiosk, I astutely deduced I was 3rd in line. Ideally, a sales person would make a sale, ring up his customer and then turn around and say, “who is next.” Only, that never happened. This did. A salesman would ring up customer, turn around and say, “Hold on.” Then that person would walk away. When they were seen again, they were with another customer. That customer would then get rung up and sales person would turn and say, “I’ll be right back.” Repeat several times…with several different salespeople.
It took me a few minutes, but I realized what was happening. As a mater of fact, I am pretty sure I did the same thing. People were waiting next to the fridges that they wanted and would grab a salesperson that was helping another customer. Something like, “excuse me…I want this fridge when you’re done with him.” That salesperson knew he had another sale in the bag. The people standing over by the kiosk were an “unknown.” Did they have 100 questions? Were they going to waste his time and buy someplace else? Who knows? I asked Lisa to hold our place in line and I went to investigate further.
I found a different sales person who informed me that there was “no set plan, we just help whoever is ready.” What about the people waiting near the kiosk? His answer was, “where?” He agreed to help me. I walked him to the fridge, told him that was the one I wanted; he took the required information and returned to the kiosk (or whatever he called it.) I was then informed that he would order me one, as the store was “sold out.” Seeing as how I wanted the fridge delivered anyway, I didn’t see any problem with that. Until I was told it would take 3 weeks. Not to ship it, but to order it…then another 1-3 weeks to ship it depending on schedule. I then inquired, “Why did the previous sales person say he was going to put one ‘on hold’ for me if there wasn’t one available.” His answer was amazingly honest. “I don’t know.” He then responded, “there is one fridge on site, but it is on hold for an Aaron.” DEEP BREATH…DEEEP BREATH
There is a fridge on hold for an “Aaron” I ask? Yes, he says. That is me; I’m Aaron. That is the fridge I want. Lets buy it. His response was…”Can’t. It is on hold.” The fridge that is on hold cannot be bought by me because it is on hold for me? Who is on first? I finally get the guy to agree that since the fridge was on hold for me, I should be able to buy it. It seems like that should be an easy call, but he needed a manger to come over and make the final call. With all the necessary information “gotten,” we scheduled the delivery, he asks for my card. I hand him the Best Buy Temp card.
It was as if I handed him monopoly money. Or told him to fly to Paris and shave a monkey. Or that I knew his mothers maiden name was Gordon. He had this completely blank look on his face. “I can’t take this,” he stammered. (I can make fun of stammering; I’m a speech impedamentologist.) Why not I inquired? “You have to wait until you get the real card.” I ask, “why would they have given me this card…with my name…with the card number…with an expiration date…if I couldn’t use it?” I am sure it was just paperwork was his response. I HATE YOU. I HATE BEST BUY. I am thinking this is how postal workers must have felt prior to their rampage. I now hate everyone in a blue or yellow polo.
I regain my ability to speak, my sarcasm meter has hit 11 and my fun meter is at-1. I ask for the manger to come back and help because, “you don’t know what you are talking about.” In deed, I was right. VICTORY IS MINE…almost. Unfortunately, the kiosk (his words, not mine) cannot accept the card; the purchase needs to be made at the time the application was filled out. The original sales person should have written up my ticket and then when I was approved, the purchase would have been made at the same time. Also, for clarification, if I came back tomorrow I could, in fact, use the temp card to make a purchase. Best Buy logic at its finest.
For the second time I make my way back to the customer service desk. I have an invoice for a fridge and all the delivery instructions. The sales manger even threw in a free icemaker to help mitigate my “frustration.” (The free icemaker is important later on.) I stand in yet another line.
Many of you who know me, know that I can be very sarcastic and very loud when I want to be. I could feel that hatred boiling in my veins.
Standing on line, waiting my turn, I calmed just a little. Lisa had left to wander around a sporting good store and to get another coffee from Starbucks. I arrived at the counter, where a 13-year-old pimple-faced, longhaired emo tween asked how he could help. I almost stuck my fist down his left nares. I need to purchase this (holding my invoice) from you. “OK,” was his response. The next exchange really is better as a visual. You have to understand my body language, the actions of the clerk…but I’ll do my best, but I would hate to make this story too long.
I hand him my invoice. Picture a rectangle shaped piece of paper. The sku #, my name and address were written on top and some nondescript Best Buy information at the bottom. The middle portion was blank. This invoice was then to be placed where the receipt might come from on the side of the cash register. Essentially, the middle part of the invoice would get printed information much like a sales receipt.
The cashier took the receipt and placed it to the side of the register (visualize it sliding in where there receipt would be??). He pressed some keys; it made a buzzing clicking sound and the paper sputtered out. He took the invoice and placed it in again. It was shot out, again. Put it back in. Came out. In, out. In…. out. IN…OUT. I’ll give him points for persistence. However, wouldn’t one think that if I do “something” 3 or 4 times with the same response, try number 5 and try number 6 would produce the same response? It is not like he tried a different keystroke, or even a different placement of the invoice. Just repeated the same motion over and over. He did it one more time…in…then out…as he began top put it in yet another time…I spoke, “Are you really gonna put that paper in and try it again? Don’t you want to ask for help?” He looked at me, didn’t say a word and put the invoice back in. As it sputtered out once again, I lost it. My mind snapped.
Like a movie or descriptions of a near death experience…everything slowed to a near standstill. I thought about yelling…I thought about ripping him to shreds with verbal insults…I thought about just leaving. Instead, I just slowly went to the floor and lay..lie,,laid down (damn you Strunk and White!!). Keep in mind; I am 6 feet 6 inches tall and 245 pounds. I remained supine -- arms and legs out as far as I could get them to reach until the manager came rushing over. “SIR, sir…are you ok?” as I look up, I see a mother actually shielding her 6 year old daughter…Steering her helpless daughter behind her back to protect her from what she must believe will be impending violence. Mom and daughter looked terrified, but didn’t move, there is no way they were gonna get out of line…they had probably wasted ½ there day to get to this point and didn’t want to start over.
The manager asked me to get up and he would help. I responded, “I can’t…I just can’t” He looked at my wife, who by now had returned. He was hoping she could cajole me up from the floor. Lisa’s response was to silently turn and walk out the front door. She wanted no part of this. She too was pissed. I could hear the manager tell the cashier, “The key was left on return…it just needed to be turned to sale.” Hahahahahahaha.
So, that was it. I bought my fridge. A week later it was delivered, on time, to my new house. It worked well, kept food cold. Fantastic. The only thing I needed to do was hook up the icemaker. I had been making ice “manually” for the week. I took the ice bucket out of the box it came in, but left the other parts in the box. Completing this task required me to crawl under the house to hook up the fittings to a water source. I asked my dad to come and help. While I was under the house, he was behind the fridge hooking up the tubing. I was waiting for him to have everything hooked up from his side so I could “turn the valve” and start having ice made. I waited and waited. He looked through the box at the parts I had left out.
“Dad…how you doing?” His response was not completely unexpected. “I can’t find a part.” OK, keep looking was my response. He looked, and looked. I could hear him walking back and forth. He tried to describe the part to me…”a little brass fixture that hooks up to the ice maker so we can connect the water supply to it…have you seen it Aaron?” Of course it wasn’t there. Dad, get the gasoline and a torch, were going back to best buy!!!!!!!!! (The number of !’s should correlate to my level of anger.) I drove like a maniac. Cussing the whole way. My dad asked me to pull over and he would drive at one point.
I didn’t change my clothes, wash my hands or clean my face. I had been under a house, a dirty dirty place and was now in the middle of Best Buys seething. I found a salesmen in the appliance sections and calmly (if you believe that…there is a bridge to Brooklyn I’d like to sell you). He went into the back and cam back with another icemaker box. “Here you go sir, take the whole thing.” Out of principal, I refused. “I only want the piece that you guys shorted me.” I wanted them to understand I wasn’t looking for a freebee! He took out the ice tray and untapped the brass fitting from the icemaker. He said “ok, take this then” and then did the most amazing thing. Took out a sharpie and wrote, “SAVE FOR AARON TANNER.NOT TRASH – DONOT THROW AWAY” He said, “I don’t want you to have another part missing and can’t find a spare ice maker.”
I was actually happy. I went home with my father who, for those of you that know my dad know, he was horrified. “What if someone knew me there?” Anyway, we get home and quickly finish hooking it up. However, there was something I couldn’t shake. That brass fitting. Why wasn’t it in the box with the other pieces? Where did the salesmen get it? Was it in the bag with the other parts? No. It was taped to the back of the ice try…right were the original fitting still was when I looked. I had nearly caused WWIII and there it was. Hmm.
There you have it. I have coined the phrase “The Silent Protest” from this. I have never used it since that fateful day in Best Buy. However, I have had a few people say they tried it…all with varying degrees of success. I firmly believe that had I not sprawled on the floor, I would still be there trying to buy a fridge. It has been my pleasure serving you.
Oops,
Tanner
