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December 13, 2004

Verbal Brawl at the Shopping Center

This weekend I met Carl. Actually, this weekend someone said, "Brian, this is Carl" about the guy that just arrived at the Talking Head. Then I yelled, "Carl!" From across the room he looked a tiny bit embarrassed and very much offended. I didn't yell "Carl" after that. This weekend I was very much in a yelling mood, so I'm sure I did more yelling. I just didn't yell "Carl" after that.

This weekend I also got into the Christmas consumerism spirit. So I drove to one of those suburban stripmall places to buy my sister the item she requested. I did it even though I'm not really into gift-giving at Christmas.
That's what I say at least. The thing is, I'm a bad planner when it comes to such things. I always forget about super special days like Christmas. I wake up on these days and go to work only to find no one else there. I crawl into bed and realize, "today is my birthday!"
Still, since everyone else is into giving things I feel I have to give presents. I usually like to make my gifts, or buy handmade gifts. I do this for a couple reasons. Reason #1, things I make are very cheap. People receiving them usually think they are "from the heart" so they overlook the fact that the gift is made from found objects and superglue.
That's what I thought anyway. Then I went to my parents house and found one of the gifts I had given my mother, only a couple months before, prominantly placed in a storage room under a broken mirror, extra floor tiles and rended dog toys.

Oh, I also give handcrafted gifts because I feel they are more personal.
So, after seeing yet another gift discarded I decided not everyone shares my point of view. I decided I should just give in and get people things I think they might want; the stuff's for them after all, right?

So, my sister told me she wanted some electronic gizmo thingy and I went out and bought it. I fought through the throngs of Christmas shoppers, my heart low in my chest knowing I was now, although not in spirit, one of them. Cheery uniformed employees mistook my disgust at the wanton materialism as a sort of dejection brought on by my failure to find what I wanted. "Hey, Sir! Can I help you find anything? A gas powered PDA with wireless internet backscratching technology so you'll never have to leave the bathroom?" Head cocking to the side.
"I'm looking for an MP3 player."
"Oh great! They're in the cell phone section! Right over here!"
"Cell phone section?" I must have made a face appropriate to my confusion, because it makes no sense to me to put non-cell phone related things in a "cell phone section."
"Oh! I know! They're moving everything around in the store!"
It was assumed that I was a frequent shopper at this oversized warehouse like store hidden behind a parking lot full of monsterously large SUVs no doubt used 95% of the time on the highway (the other 5% being the traversing of driveways and suburban parking lots).

In truth I had only been to the store once before. I went to buy a tripod.
I was on the way to the cash register when it came to me: "This tripod is most likely for a video camera. I need it for my [still] camera [a pentax k1000]." I checked the box but didn't see anything about an attachment bolt. So I opened the box.
"You bought that yet?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. You. Opening the box. You best close that box now."
"No. Not yet. I'm going to if it's got a bolt that fits my camera."
"Well, if you ain't bought it close the box and look at the outside."
"I checked the outside and it doesn't say anything about the bolt."
"You can't open the box. You best close it now, buddy."
"I just need to see --"
"Aint no, 'need to see.' Store policy."
"Wow. You're really rude."
"Rude ain't got nothing to do with it. Store policy."
"Don't you have a store policy about customer service?"
"If you don't like it don't buy it."
"Are you telling me not to buy something here? ... Bernard?"
"Yeah. Bernard. And, yeah. I'm telling you if you don't like the policy to get out of the store."
"What? I bet your manager would like to hear this."
"I bet he'd like to hear about people opening boxes, that's right."
"I meant about your complete lack of customer service."
"I'm sure he would. It's the policy. Tell him on your way out. Make sure to tell him you opened the box."

Posted by calculatoronfire at December 13, 2004 12:34 PM

Comments

that fuck

Posted by: carl at December 14, 2004 01:07 AM

Carl!

Bernard and I almost went to blows because he was such a fuck. Actually I don't really fight, but I was going to make an exception for Bernard...instead I told on him.

I said,Hey, manager. Bernard yelled at me.
He yelled?
Well, he didn't raise his voice, but he was very rude and told me to leave without buying anything.

I got the I don't believe you/I don't care impression.
Then as I was leaving I heard him say. Sorry about that. We've been having a lot of problems with him.

I knew it! It's because he's a fuck.

Posted by: brian at December 14, 2004 10:38 AM

Where is this store? I have to buy a tripod and really don't want to a. waste my time, and b. end up at Wally World.

What a fucktard...

Posted by: Sol at December 15, 2004 06:23 AM

I tried to leave it a little ambiguous. I wanted to let other people know the joy of speaking to Bernard.
But --
If you promise not to tell anyone else I'll let you know.

Promise?

I thought so.

Best Buy in White Marsh.

Posted by: brian at December 15, 2004 10:17 AM