I drag my mom and foster sister out at 12:00 midnight this morning to Barnes and Noble for their promised Harry Potter party. There’s a big sign up and everything. I figure I’ll have to wait in line a looooooong time, but that’s okay, 'cause my fingers are itching to fondle the latest book and slurp up the Rowling goodness. I will happily fork over the $30 to get one to call my own.
We get in and find a sleepy mob of people. There’s no real line, but hey, we’re all in a good mood. I’m a little stumped, because three minutes before midnight, there isn’t an Order of the Phoenix book in sight, just people standing around. There’s a happy little countdown, and then . . . nothing.
No books, just people standing around, sleepy and a little confused.
Okay, well, there’s kind of a line that’s heading from the counters into the deep wilds of Animals (Dogs), so I drag my mom over there. Strange thing, all the people have stickers with numbers on them. Oh! We must take a number! What a sensible thing to do, and I’ve no complain to getting a big number, because I did come rather late. So, I drag the mother back to the front table, where the lady who pointed out the line to me still stands. She’s in charge of the stickers, so I ask for one. She checks her list.
A list? Oh, dear, must be for those who prepaid. Looks like my number will be rather large indeed, and I can see the first one on her pile is 274. There’s going to be a wait.
Except, no, unless I prepaid, I can’t get a number at all. Which means I can’t get in line, which means I can’t buy a book. I have just wasted a half an hour of my mom’s time when she could be sound asleep, snoring like a congested wolverine. Would I like to put my name down on the list for the next batch of books? Certainly. Put me down for two, that way I can pick up my mom’s copy without dragging her down here again. And I can get them in the morning, right?
No, they be here in a week and a half.
Now, dear readers, please understand that while I do have a temper, I try very hard not to take it out on underlings. I think my blood pressure rose about fifty points while I tried to get my brain around the concept of a chain bookstore that:
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advertises a midnight party, which other than a large number of people bears no resemblance to anything I’ve ever seen referred to as a party
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will only sell books to those who prepaid
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and didn’t advertise that fact
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has only stocked enough books of the most heavily hyped book since the New Testament to cover their pre-paid customers
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had only two lone, frightened coffeesurfs at the Starbucks kiosk and two people on register
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actually expects me to wait a week and a half in a major metropolitan center to get a book that will be carried by every merchant except the “Fundies R Us” store across the way, and even that manager has a spare copy he might part with if you paid him in Jack Chick pamphlets
I smiled politely, dragged my mom and foster sister back out, apologized profusely, and we went home to get some sleep.
This morning, at 9:00, I stopped by Target, grabbed two of the hundreds of copies off the third endcap by their registers and paid nearly 40% less than what Barnes and Noble was asking for them. From car door to car door, it took me five minutes.
I’m writing a letter to your CEO, you big poopy heads!