Currently listening to: "Cornerstone" by Day of Fire

Alright, picking up from last post...

It began as any ordinary Monday. But, that may be inaccurate. It began as a Monday in which you don't have any pressing matters such as school or work to attend to. And those, of course, are the best kind of Mondays. My computer's power cord, having finally given up on life, was in need of a successor. I decided that I should call Best Buy, being that I had a warranty under them. It seemed like a simple task. I would go to Best Buy, explain the situation, and get my new power cord. But, as life would have it, things are not what they seem. The day as a whole was filled with waves of bureaucracy and unfortunate coincidences. This day was so hectic, in fact, that I found it necessary to keep notes on the events that transpired, keeping in mind I would have to post the details. Let's begin with the first bullet, "Phonebook." I opened the phonebook, looking for Best Buy's number. Running my finger through the names, I found that there seemed to be an entry missing between Mr. Bessire and the Bethea family. It seemed odd, but, as life would have it, things are not what they seem. Looking to the top of the page, I realized this was the wrong town to search through. I didn't want Hendersonville. I should've been looking through Rivergate. Looking through the pages, it occurred to me that Rivergate had been omitted from our phonebook. It seemed as though someone had made an error in compiling this particular phonebook, but, as life... nevermind. I moved on my parent's computer. Not exactly what you would call "cutting edge," or even "dull edge," but more like "sharp as a sponge." Reluctantly, I let the computer ease its way onto the internet. It struck me as ironic, that if my laptop was the only computer in the house, I would've been out of luck. The thought distracted me long enough for the computer to finally make it to Best Buy's website. With little sleuthing and plenty of patience, I managed to grab the number. I dialed them up and navigated my way through a labyrinth of menus and submenus and subsubmenus. I managed to bump my way into a conscious being. After a short chat with the man at the other end, I was redirected to the Geek Squad. After a nearly identical chat with the man at the other end, I was told to dial 1-888-BESTBUY. I dialed up the number, found my way through another enigmatic set of menus, and had a very familiar conversation with the man at the other end. I was told to take my power cord to the Best Buy store to get a service order. Not by either of the previous two people who worked at the store, but by someone halfway across the country.

Since I never normally went to Best Buy, I looked up a map online to make sure I had the directions right. With directions in mind and power cord in hand, it occurred to me that I wasn't wearing any socks. I made my way to my sock drawer. I examined the contents: no socks. Knowing that, as life would have it, things were never as they seemed, I checked again: Still no socks. I made for the laundry room. There were some socks here. I grabbed a pair. Now, by "a pair," I do not mean that a grabbed a set of two socks that go together to form one pair of socks. By "a pair," I mean two. I later found that these two socks were both intended for right feet, of which I had only one. I put up with it.

I made it to Best Buy. They were quite surprised to hear that I was required to have a service order, but went about with it. Service order in hand, I made my way a few feet to my very close parking spot. I had run a bit up on the curb, but there was a very large truck on my right, and the curb didn't seem like it would retaliate. I got in my car, feeling a sense of accomplishment. I put the service order and my power cord on the passenger seat and put the key in its... whatever carkeys go in. I have an eerie feeling they aren't called keyholes. Whatever. As I put the key into its appropriate place, I found that looming (that's really the only word that works) outside my window was a woman knocking on the glass. I would probably put her in the forties range. That's forty years old, not 1940's. These were her exact words (and imagine the gospel choir-style woman voice):

"You can't go no where, you can't go no where. You're all up in my bumper."

It would be difficult to spell out the actual way it sounded. She swallowed the R's, which probably isn't at all important to the actual story. It seems when I stopped, the sound I thought was me on the curb, was actually me "all up on huh bumpuh." I got out of the car to examine the damage. I actually had to get within a foot of the point of collision to see that the cars were indeed touching. Of course, if you consider "touching" to mean that at least two molecules are in contact, then our cars were merely too close to see that they weren't touching. Undeterred by the lack of molecule contact, the Crazy Lady had already called the police, certain that by the time they arrived, a gust of wind might put things in her favor. Then there was the cold. I felt that if I got in my car, Crazy Lady would think I was going to drive off without paying to have those electrons replaced. I felt that if I went into the store, it left her out in the cold waiting for the police. And I didn't want to do that. So I waited. And she went inside. For the next hour, I leaned against my car, watching the sun move. At first, you couldn't tell it was moving. Until it got to the tree tops. Then things just go cold. And blurry.

When the officer did arrive, he quickly explained that they didn't do parking lots. To show her I was a good sport, I gave her my insurance information, even after the police had assured her that there was no damage, possibly even contact. I did take some pictures, very intentionally. Just so she won't bother me again. Desperate to make sure the evening wasn't wasted, I stopped by Media Play, which was having a going-out-of-business sale. I picked up the entire collection of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy (see previous post). It was over 800 pages total, but I finished it up a few hours back. Very funny book. But there are still a few bullets on my list.

I got home, and, once again, called 1-888-BESTBUY. You'd think that having already navigated my way through the mazes of menus twice that day would have given me some experience to draw upon. No. No it didn't. I once again stumbled through the automated menus like... like... like a bicycle would stumble through an automated car wash. Yeah. Like that. Unlike a bicycle, I got to listen to some catchy hold music when I finally made it through. I gave them my service order number. I gave them my address. They gave me an order confirmation number. They thanked me for choosing Best Buy. I ran through all the possible ways I could have shown to them my dissatisfaction, though God probably would not have approved with some of them. So I just hung up the phone. Then I read 800 pages and slept alot.