Dear Best Buy Employee:
Please note, affable Best Buy employee directing traffic at the checkout counter, that over the past couple of weeks, I've had several occasions to visit your store at the corner of Santa Monica and La Brea. The majority of my customer service experiences have easily met, nay, exceeded my expectations; employees from the television to home appliance department have been knowledgable, plentiful, friendly, generally not too obese. Not to say you weren't all of these things as well, but your particular post that day, one you must have earned by drawing the short straw that morning, was particularly vexing.
When I approached the checkout, strangely tucked into a dark, arcane corner of the store and masked by an unfortunate convenience store-esque display of magazines, large sacks of candy and USC paraphernalia, I experienced one of those moments of utter dismay at not only the complete abandon of any pretense of logic, but the living incarnate of philosopher Edward Burke's "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
There was a line, a short line, granted, but a line nonetheless, and only two checkers working. This line could have been wholly eliminated by you, Best Buy employee, whose job it was apparently to tell the next person in line to proceed somewhere in the neighborhood of six to ten feet forward to the open checker after the completion of the previous transaction, opening another kiosk. But you didn't. You continued to stand there, your arms folded, serving as a glorified sign with an arrow on it.
"If you'll step right this way, sir," you say to me, your ample girth barely contained in your standard issue, electric blue Best Buy shirt.
"Wait, this way?" I cannot help but respond, gesturing at the waiting checker, whose nose I could easily pick if I fully extended my arm.
"Yes," you respond cheerfully.
At this point, I am of two minds. Are you neutralizing my sarcasm, being a bigger man and a responsible employee, upholding the policy put in place by some upper-level, Best Buy HR Einstein and refusing to acknowledge the inherent ridiculousness of the situation? Or do you actually believe me to be confused? Either way, by refusing to give me the reaction I want, an eye-roll of solidarity, an acknowledgment that "yes, yes, I understand that you know how to, as a civilized person experienced with retail environments, locomote yourself an open cashier," you have clearly won here, and I have lost.
All I want, desperately, is for you to say, "I understand you find my presence in this capacity moronic. I understand that by going to open one of the unmanned checkout kiosks, I would be able to completely eliminate this line, and that although doing so might cause the great, unwashed Best Buy customers to feel slightly adrift without me to guide them, I might just need to take a leap of faith that they will find their way." Presumably, if by some reason some confused, doddering be-cataracted elderly patron did find himself adrift while at the front of the line, spinning in an unmoored vortex of confusion, a simple, "Next" would most likely suffice to summon him forward.
This, however, Best Buy employee, is a reality that will never be... as you continue to man your unnecessary post, thumbing your nose at the line and the closed kiosks immediately behind you. I proceed to the waiting cashier, make my purchase, move to the door, where no less than three people are eager to make sure I have the receipt for the $40 replacement water filter I just purchased, the and leave the store, shaking my head at the coterie of smiling idiots in my wake. I wince as a "Thank you for shopping at Best Buy!" is cheerily tossed at me as I run for the door. The water filter, in lieu of being used in the fridge, will come in handy to purify the toxic condensation that will no doubt be released into the atmosphere as steam starts to come out of my ears.
Best regards,
Dear Crabby
bravo
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