Up until the past week, I never had a real problem with Walmart. Yes, it’s a huge chain that probably has far too much control and influence than any single store should, but it offers the necessities at low prices, and there’s no point in fighting something so large anyway. It is simply one of those things that I accept in life, like crocs or the Gap – they don’t personally offend me, and I’m not so put off by their “workers” or clientele that I go out of my way to avoid the store.
Now, however, I’m having a change of heart. I had one of the worst store-service moments of the last several years while trying to get an iPhone from Walmart. (The iPhone story is long-winded tale for another time – all you need to know is that I had decided on getting one when my friend Skip said they were going for $97 at Walmart.)
Normally, I would just go to the Apple store, pony up the full-fledged price, and walk out without hassle. But, these being troubled financial times (my credit card bill exceeds what I have in the bank), I have to scope out the best deal, and since my Verizon contract is up and I’m going month to month, I can afford to wait out when that arrives. Luckily, the new AT&T discount on the data fee went into effect on Monday, so I went into Walmart last week to see if they had any iPhones left or, if not, order one.
Warning: I’m about to sound like a snobby bitch in the next few paragraphs, so if you find that off-putting, and some do, stop reading now because I don’t want to hear it.
Walking into Walmart is never what I would consider an uplifting experience. From the workers to the customers, it’s a sad reflection of humanity. I usually walk with my head down, hidden in a baseball cap, in the hopes of averting eye contact with the greeter person – you know, that smiling buffoon who is placed at the dooor to say hello to everyone who walks in – the one they somehow manage to station in that spot even when there are no other people at any department, the cashier lines are ten deep, and the customer service line has people sleeping on the floor. Back to her later.
I make my way to the electronics department, looking as shady as possible, because every other time I’ve gone there they’re on me like I’m about to execute The Great Walmart Electronic Heist. Of course the one day I need help, there’s no one around. I wander the aisles for a bit to see if I can at least find the iPod/iPhone area, but it’s behind a locked glass door so it doesn’t matter anyway. Eventually I see something coming towards me that I know is the one who works there even though I hope against hope that it isn’t the case.
Despite my nastiness, I do not fault people for their physical appearance. Hell, I find a zillion faults in my own countenance, and I never insult or degrade someone because of the way they were born. (Clothing is another matter entirely, as this is a conscious choice over which we have total control.) This person looked like… well, just think of The Goonies and the character of Sloth, and you have an idea of the uncanny resemblance that stood before me (minus a few feet in height). Again, no judgment, just description. And usually the Sloths that I’ve encountered in life have been tremendously gifted. Not this one.
I inquired as to whether they had any iPhones left, knowing that it was a long shot.
“No.”
I asked if it would be possible to order one.
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“You would have to call the Apple store directly and ask them to ship it to us.”
“I don’t understand… I would just like to put in an order for one, I don’t care if it takes a few weeks to come in, I just want to make sure I can get the lower price, and I don’t think I can if I go through Apple.”
“No, you can’t, but they’re not shipping it to us, so you would have to call them and ask them to start shipping to us.”
At this point I still can’t get my head around the fact that he can’t his head around what I’m asking.
“Okay, all I want to do is to have Walmart order an item that is out of stock at the moment, but that you will have in stock eventually. That item is an iPhone. How do I have Walmart order that?”
“We can’t. You have to call Apple and ask them to ship it to us.”
I try a different tact, because my brain is being warped by the immensity of his stupidity. “But how will you know that I’m the one having it shipped to you?” I ask.
This gives him pause, but I only did it to confuse him, knowing full well it wouldn’t get me any closer to an iPhone. I thanked him and went to the customer service desk to see if a manager could explain why we couldn’t order an item. At the customer service desk was a line of gray-haired ladies (I can say that because I’m quickly graying myself) waiting for a teenage girl to help them out. Next to this was the store greeter, standing there doing nothing, because no one was entering the store at that moment.
“Excuse me, is there a manager here?” I ask the greeter.
“She can help you,” she says, pointing to the girl working the line.
“No, I am absolutely positive she can’t. Can you just call a manager please?”
“I can’t, but she can,” and she points again to the girl. This is the first time I want to scream, but miraculously, the poor girl talks into her headset and summons a manager before I do.
Soon enough, another young girl shuffles toward me, clearly miserable and not wanting to manage a Wal-Mart (and who can blame her really?) Remember what I said about not insulting the physical characteristics of a person? I stand by that. But like clothing, bad make-up is a choice as well, and one that this unfortunate creature should not have made.
Overlooking the eyeshadow of BP oil spill proportion, I explain the situation and say I just want to order an item that is currently out of stock, the iPhone.
“Oh, I don’t work in that department.”
At this point I am convinced that they breed these people in the back store-room, and that Walmart is some sort of self-sustaining colony of a strange species that has not yet worked out all of its genetic kinks.
I must look like I’m about to cry, because she seems to try to help, saying that we’ll have to go to electronics and talk to someone there. It’s like the Fratelli brothers are on my ass again, but there we head.
“Who were you taking to?” she asks as we arrive.
“That… guy,” I stammer, as Sloth comes around the corner.
We have the exact same conversation, and the manager simply repeats what he says. But she offers to ask the girl who really knows what’s going on, even though she is on break. I have given up, but wait around just for kicks. The manager returns – same old story. I’m done – thanks.
I walk out through the garden center, hoping to salvage some bit of this waste of time, and pick up two plants on the way out. There is only one person at the outdoor register, so I hop in line and then notice that the person is the cashier, standing by a cart half-filled with merchandise.
“I’m just waiting for this customer to get a sku number for a pair of flip-flops,” the cashier, Bob, says.
No fucking way. This is not how retail works. But I wait a few minutes before asking if he can just cancel the transaction and ring me out before she gets back.
“No, I can’t cancel a transaction, it’s against the rules. They won’t let us.”
I look above to see if I can spot the mother ship. Three more people have joined the line behind me, wondering what the hell is going on. I am about to reasonably posit the question, “What if you rang in one of these plants, and I decided I didn’t want it or didn’t have money? Are you telling me you couldn’t cancel it and take the next person in line?” But I’m too tired for that. Another Wal-Mart employee comes out to see what the problem is because the line is backed up. “Bob, is everyting all right?”, he asks, and at that moment the woman (your average Wal-Mart shopper, if you’ve been to any of those websites) comes out with her flip-flops.
“Are you the one we’re all waiting for?” I ask, like she’s Neo from The Matrix.
“Yes,” she says sheepishly and red-faced.
I leave it at that.
(This was what happened at the Latham location. I won’t even waste another post on what went down at the Amsterdam store…)
{All images from People of Wal-Mart}
