Many Happy Returns

So I’ve finally got myself an I-Pod.

OK, OK it’s not really an I-Pod. They cost several hundred dollars whereas mine was a freebie promotional item, with a corporate logo on it. Even so, it has astonishingly good sound quality, is about the size of a pack of gum and did I say it was free?

Sadly, it didn’t come with an instruction book, but there were plenty of twenty-somethings sitting around the conference room table with me.

"Switch it on by holding down this button here" explained Jassira patiently. "You can download songs to your computer, then save them to the device."
"Just like saving to a floppy disk?" I said enthusiastically, before noticing her blank stare and realizing she didn’t know what a floppy disk was. "OK" I sighed, "Go on."
"Its own memory will hold a few songs, but you’ll want to buy a memory card to store more."

Easy enough, and a couple of days later I could be found staring at a rack of tiny plastic squares in an electronics store near my office.

"So uhm, how many songs would one of these things hold?" I asked the 12-year old salesman hovering at my elbow.
"Oh, about 500." He chirruped.

500 eh? I’m not sure I have more than about a thousand songs on my computer. (The record companies’ jihad against free file swapping services put a crimp on my rapidly expanding music collection.) So, I reasoned, while it might be pricier than I expected, 500 should easily cover my needs.

Except of course, it didn’t store 500 songs. What the little twerp forgot to tell me that this all depended upon the file format. Mp3, which makes up the bulk of my pirated collection, is the largest file size and as a result, the memory card I’d bought would only hold about 250 before crapping out.

Another thing I discovered was that my little freebie player isn’t exactly overloaded with features. Among other things, it’s unable to sort songs by artist or folder; one can only scroll through them one at a time. I did however learn that the device’s own memory could store almost 150 songs and as saving and deleting was a snap, I reasoned it made more sense to dispense with the memory card altogether, and simply download whatever songs I felt like listening to before leaving the house.

Which also meant I could get a refund on the wad of cash I’d plunked down for the memory card. I checked the receipt and learned that all items could be returned within 30 days provided they still had the original packaging and were in ‘like new’ condition. No problem there so I was back at the store a little less than 2 hours after I left.

"I’m sorry, I can’t process the return" said the clerk.
"Oh, why not?" I asked.
"You paid by check so we’ll need to wait 2-3 days before giving you the refund." (Yes, I still like to use a check book. As you’ve probably gathered by now, I haven’t spent much time on technology’s cutting edge.) However, the explanation sounded reasonable so I put everything back in my desk before returning the following week.

"I’m sorry, I can’t process the return" said the clerk.
"Oh, why not?" I asked.
"You paid by check so we’ll need to wait 7 business days before giving you the refund."
"Really? The last guy said 2-3 days."
"Nope, 7 business days – sorry." He said; although he didn’t sound very sorry at all.

So back I went, on the 8th business day.
"I’m sorry, I can’t process the return" said the clerk.
"Oh, why not?" I asked.
"The receipt says (Dear Wife’s name) – that’s not you."
"No, that’s because her name appears first on the check, look." I showed him my check book.
"I’m sorry; she’ll have to be present for us to issue the refund."
"We live 50 miles away. Are you seriously telling me she’ll need to drive all the way in just because my name is second on the check I’ve just shown you?"
"Yes, I’m sorry Sir."
You know how some people can say "Sir" and make it sound like "You stupid piece of crap."? That was how he said it.

"Not to worry" I told Dear Wife. "You’re going to Safeway on Tuesday and the electronics store has a branch in the strip mall. You can return it there."

Except of course, she couldn’t.

"I’m sorry, I can’t process the return" said the clerk.
"Oh, why not?" Dear Wife asked.
"The package has been opened."
"Well of course it’s been opened. That’s how he learned it wouldn’t do what your salesman told him it would. And anyway, the receipt says ‘All items can be returned within 30 days provided they still have the original packaging and are in ‘like new’ condition’"
"But it’s been opened, so it’s not in ‘like new’ condition."

I was more than a little ticked off when she told me.

"Let’s have you come with me to the original store." I said "We’ll sort this out once and for all."

Dear Wife had to come downtown this week on a different errand, which is fortunate as we’re getting dangerously close to the thirty day mark and I had no intention of getting stuck with a memory card I didn’t want. She called my office when she arrived and the pair of us set off for the electronics store together.

I was pumped.

No crap this time. No excuses, no flannel, no weaseling. I would start out polite, but if there was any nonsense, I would switch straight into customer-from-hell mode. I’ve dealt with enough of them in my time to know how it’s done and I was loaded for bear.

The clerk whistled as he entered the information in the computer. I kept myself tense, alert, breathing steady and even but poised like a mountain lion ready to strike. I could take him, I reasoned. Drag his skinny little butt over the counter and bludgeon him to death with the display of cell phone holsters. Just give me the signal.

"There we go Sir" he said, breaking my reverie. "If I could just have you sign the return slip, we’ll be all set."

And so we were.

Moments later we were back out in the sunshine, refund in hand. No muss, no fuss. He didn’t even want to see Dear Wife’s ID.

"So you didn’t need me to be here after all?" she asked.

"Oh, I don’t know" I replied. "That little bugger might have been stronger than he looked."