Back in the 1980s, while I was working as a reporter and photographer, the Southampton Press regularly published a column entitled The Press Box. It contained the musings and ramblings of various staff members. This is one of my contributions.
If you’ve ever stood for what seems like hours in the return/exchange line at your local department store, than you know what a rotten ordeal it can be.
I had to do this recently, and the experience will stay with me forever. You see, one of the headlights on my Jeep went dark a few days ago. So I trotted over to my local shopping center where I purchased a replacement lamp. Now, having an old style, two lamp combo system, I got one of those high/low beam lamps. Just what my vehicle wanted. I plugged it in, waited until dark, and viola! It worked. So naturally I threw away the blue, crinkley plastic bag, complete with sales slip. After all, what did I need to keep that stuff for.
A week later, as I’m cruising down the dark and lonely byways of the Hamptons, I noticed that my lights seemed dimmer. At home I checked, and you guessed it, the high beam in my new headlight had failed. And so, I boarded my trusty Jeep the next Saturday and went to get a replacement, wondering if the cut-rate price I had paid was worth it.
Once in the store I new I was in trouble. The security guy at the door looked at my headlamp – fortunately I had kept the original box because I am one of those who collects odd bits of debris in the far corners of my garage – and asked to see my sales slip.
“I threw it away,” I announced innocently. “After all, when I installed the lamp and it worked, I figured I didn’t need the sales slip any more”.
“But you kept the box,” he asked suspiciously.
I shrugged. “What can I say,” I said, “I put the old lamp in the box and stuffed it on a shelf in my garage.”
“Uh, huh,” he said unconvinced. “You should have kept the sales slip.” But he did put a little red sticker on my headlamp box and I wandered through the store until I found customer services.
There I waited…and waited…and then waited some more. The people ahead of me all had long, drawn-out stories of woe. “This iron won’t heat up,” said one; “This cooler doesn’t keep things cool,” said another.
The woman two places ahead of me had an interesting tale. The toaster oven she had purchased glowed very convincingly, hummed and vibrated up a storm. But it wouldn’t toast worth a darn she said. She had tried cooking a TV dinner in it one night and after the requisite time all she had was a gold, soggy uncooked mess.
The stoic store clerk listened and nodded, just as he had with all of the previous complaints. He took the toaster oven and plugged it into an outlet above the counter behind him. We all watched it light up, watched it vibrate a little and heard it hum. The clerk reached out tentatively and touched the toaster oven door.
“It’s cold,” he said. The woman nodded enthusiastically. The young clerk then opened the toaster oven door and stuck his hand inside.
“Yowwww’ he howled while stuffing three fingers into his mouth. “Its hot inside,” he said around his fingers. The woman looked surprised, then confused, then angry.
“You did something to it,” she accused.
“No I didn’t,” he shot back.
They went on like this for a while before the clerk gave in and told her she could have another toaster oven. He gave here an authorization slip and she waltzed away smiling.
The fellow in front of me said that the tines on the rake he’d bought had bent. When he tried to bend one back it broke off in his hand. He wanted his money back.
The clerk, still with fingers in his mouth, looked at the rake, looked at the man, looked at the sales slip in the man’s hand and looked back at the rake. He gingerly took the rake with his unburnt fingers and just as gingerly handed the man his cash.
Finally, it was my turn. “I put this headlight in my car but a week later the high bean went out. I’d like another please,” I said.
“Can I see your sales slip,” the clerk asked.
“Um, no,” I replied, “I threw it away. You know, when the light worked I threw away the sales slip because I figured I didn’t need it.”
“You need it,” the clerk said.
“Listen,” I said, “I obviously bought this here, here’s the price sticker with your store’s name on it. It doesn’t work and I would like to exchange it for one that does.”
The clerk looked really hurt. If only I’d had a rake, I was thinking. He looked at me then at the line of people behind me, and then at me again.
“Well, okay. Here’s your exchange slip. Go to automotive and they’ll give you another headlight.” He paused. “Do you smell something?”
I looked around. “Yeah, I do. Kinda like leaves burning.”
Over his shoulder I saw a small curl of smoke. Before I could say anything he turned around and let out a yelp. The toaster oven was glowing orange and the stack of papers next to it was smoldering.