The Princess of Circuit City

May 3, 2007

Like the title of my entry? Don’t laugh. In two hundred years, when people are born with mashed-potato brains, The Princess of Circuit City will be the title of the best-sellingest book in the country. I take that back. Books will be gone by then. It will be the number one movie (in terms of direct-to-brain downloads) in the country. And it won’t be a comedy.

Maybe it will be a movie about the woes of ibiteyoureyes, who used Circuit City’s 24-minute in-store pickup to order some print cartridges. Why did I do this? Oh, I don’t know, I thought it would actually save time. Stupid, silly, naive eyebiter that I am.

Perhaps 24-minute in-store pickup means that Circuit City has someone in the back room picking up, and then putting down, and then picking up your order, for 24 minutes, while you wait in line. Because that’s about as long as I waited for this “express” service.

Here’s what happened:

I got in line, I think. A guy in front of me made me question whether or not I actually did get in line, by stepping to the side and then around me, to the back of the supposed line. I had never seen a line that behaved like this before (I would have liked to, while waiting to get on a roller coaster) but, hey, the rules of logic don’t apply once you hit the mean streets of Circuit City.

The line did not move. Circuit City uses the Verizon Wireless model of customer service, wherein you engage your customers in an intimidating standoff…lining up, en masse, talking amongst yourselves and generally wasting space and time. Until…

A delivery man arrives, toting a bag full of something that nippilated the nostrils of a hungry, dieting ibiteyoureyes. Fried food. Possibly tater tots.

The delivery man, too, stood in line. He waited. And waited. The Circuit Citizens talked amongst themselves. He waited some more, and then braved the line. Foolish delivery man. Or was he?

The strong, booming voice of a large, female, Circuit Citizen: “Who you need?”

Delivery man said nothing. Perhaps because he was afraid. More likely because he had no idea what she had said. He showed her the receipt. I wondered if the entire bag was full of tater tots…

She spoke again: “You’re lookin’ fo’ Princess. She’s over there.”

He bowed, muttered what must have been thanks, and scampered in the direction of Princess.

Princess had black fingernails with a white-starry pattern. She ignored the delivery man. She talked to another Circuit Citizen. A few minutes later, Princess produced a wad of cash, and gave it to the delivery man in exchange for the bag full of tater tots. She did not look or speak to him.

Then, I kid you not, every single Circuit City customer service rep, sans one, picked up their tater tots (or whatever!) and disappeared into the back. Seventeen years later, I got my print catridges.

Princess of Circuit City, I bite, chew, swallow, poop-out, reshape, refry, and resell you your tater tots.

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