we’re here, you say you don’t have it and are trying to sell us a more expensive camera. That’s a bait and switch, and that’s illegal.”
“No, ma’am, we’re just out of the other camera.” He still thought he had a chance.
Kim stepped closer and upped the intensity of her gaze. She’s like a cobra. She’ll lock you in and hold you there until you do the right thing. I’d been locked in it for almost ten years.
“I don’t think you understand,” Kim emphasized. “I will take you down if you don’t find me one of those camcorders we saw advertised.”
I was watching the scene unfold from behind the camera-bag rack. Groovy Guy stood his ground for about seven seconds, then buckled. “Uh, I think I might have one more in the back,” he said, and disappeared into the stockroom.
I ran out from behind the bags and hugged Kim. “Good job, baby. I knew he had one back there.” I didn’t know any such thing. I was ready to buy the expensive one.
“Yeah, we got him,” she said, satisfied with herself.
He brought out the box, set it on the counter, and said, “Here’s the Sony.”
“Sony,” I blurted. “It’s good. It’s love.” I shot a smile over to Kim.
I looked at the box as if it solved all my problems forever. I thought there should’ve been a chorus of angels, but there wasn’t. Just Groovy Guy, and he said, “I need to ask if you want the in-store warranty. If something goes wrong with the camera within the first year, anything, we’ll fix it or replace it for free—for a hundred dollars more.”
I thought about it for a second. “The math doesn’t really work out on that, does it? Doesn’t it have its own warranty?” I said. “It’s a Sony. It’s good. It’s love.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Kim whispered, embarrassed.
“I don’t know,” I said to her. “Look, we don’t want the in-store warranty,” I said in a finalizing tone to Groovy Guy.
“You don’t want the warranty?” he said, suddenly exasperated for some reason. “Really? Okay, I have to get my manager.”
“Okay, whatever you have to do,” I said.
“Frank!” he screamed.
Then air conditioner guy came over.
“Yeah, what? What’s the problem, Scott?”
“They don’t want the warranty.”
Frank looked overly surprised. Then it started to unfold like a poorly rehearsed play. He actually said, “No warranty? Hmm, I’ve never heard of that before. No warranty?”
“Nope,” Groovy Guy said smugly. “They said they didn’t want it.”
“Now, I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want the warranty,” Frank said earnestly. “Hang on a sec. José! Leroy! Achmed! Come over here. This guy doesn’t want the warranty. Maybe you guys could help me understand this.”
Then this multi-culti cabal of appliance salesmen assembled before me in what looked like a dance line. It felt like the end of a musical.
Leroy says, “No warranty?” in a hip-hop tone.
Achmed says, “No warranty?” with an Arabic accent.
José just says, “No guarantía?”
They all join together singing, “No warranty! He doesn’t want the warranty!”
My voice rises above them in a crescendo and stops them. “No, I don’t want the warranty. It’s SONY. It’s GOOD. It’s LOVE. It’s bigger than all of us, and it’s MINE. It’s OURS. Good-bye, we’re off.”
Finale. Curtain. My wife and I walk out.
Next stop was Niketown. Kim wanted to get some shoes. I didn’t want to go there. I don’t really like Nikes. Their politics bother me. Sweatshops? Who wants that karma on their feet? She went to the women’s department, and I went browsing up in the hiking area. I was passively looking around when I saw it, the vision of shoe illumination. The perfect sneaker/hiking boot hybrid. It was sitting on a shelf, alone, glowing, resonating, like the burning bush. I knew then that it was what God wanted me to wear in Israel. I ran up to the shelf and pulled it down. I thought,
I don’t care if
“No, ma’am, we’re just out of the other camera.” He still thought he had a chance.
Kim stepped closer and upped the intensity of her gaze. She’s like a cobra. She’ll lock you in and hold you there until you do the right thing. I’d been locked in it for almost ten years.
“I don’t think you understand,” Kim emphasized. “I will take you down if you don’t find me one of those camcorders we saw advertised.”
I was watching the scene unfold from behind the camera-bag rack. Groovy Guy stood his ground for about seven seconds, then buckled. “Uh, I think I might have one more in the back,” he said, and disappeared into the stockroom.
I ran out from behind the bags and hugged Kim. “Good job, baby. I knew he had one back there.” I didn’t know any such thing. I was ready to buy the expensive one.
“Yeah, we got him,” she said, satisfied with herself.
He brought out the box, set it on the counter, and said, “Here’s the Sony.”
“Sony,” I blurted. “It’s good. It’s love.” I shot a smile over to Kim.
I looked at the box as if it solved all my problems forever. I thought there should’ve been a chorus of angels, but there wasn’t. Just Groovy Guy, and he said, “I need to ask if you want the in-store warranty. If something goes wrong with the camera within the first year, anything, we’ll fix it or replace it for free—for a hundred dollars more.”
I thought about it for a second. “The math doesn’t really work out on that, does it? Doesn’t it have its own warranty?” I said. “It’s a Sony. It’s good. It’s love.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Kim whispered, embarrassed.
“I don’t know,” I said to her. “Look, we don’t want the in-store warranty,” I said in a finalizing tone to Groovy Guy.
“You don’t want the warranty?” he said, suddenly exasperated for some reason. “Really? Okay, I have to get my manager.”
“Okay, whatever you have to do,” I said.
“Frank!” he screamed.
Then air conditioner guy came over.
“Yeah, what? What’s the problem, Scott?”
“They don’t want the warranty.”
Frank looked overly surprised. Then it started to unfold like a poorly rehearsed play. He actually said, “No warranty? Hmm, I’ve never heard of that before. No warranty?”
“Nope,” Groovy Guy said smugly. “They said they didn’t want it.”
“Now, I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want the warranty,” Frank said earnestly. “Hang on a sec. José! Leroy! Achmed! Come over here. This guy doesn’t want the warranty. Maybe you guys could help me understand this.”
Then this multi-culti cabal of appliance salesmen assembled before me in what looked like a dance line. It felt like the end of a musical.
Leroy says, “No warranty?” in a hip-hop tone.
Achmed says, “No warranty?” with an Arabic accent.
José just says, “No guarantía?”
They all join together singing, “No warranty! He doesn’t want the warranty!”
My voice rises above them in a crescendo and stops them. “No, I don’t want the warranty. It’s SONY. It’s GOOD. It’s LOVE. It’s bigger than all of us, and it’s MINE. It’s OURS. Good-bye, we’re off.”
Finale. Curtain. My wife and I walk out.
Next stop was Niketown. Kim wanted to get some shoes. I didn’t want to go there. I don’t really like Nikes. Their politics bother me. Sweatshops? Who wants that karma on their feet? She went to the women’s department, and I went browsing up in the hiking area. I was passively looking around when I saw it, the vision of shoe illumination. The perfect sneaker/hiking boot hybrid. It was sitting on a shelf, alone, glowing, resonating, like the burning bush. I knew then that it was what God wanted me to wear in Israel. I ran up to the shelf and pulled it down. I thought,
I don’t care if
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