Not better, not worse... just different

Ahhhhh. Here it is. After four days I had the first (of many, I’m sure) frustrating shopping experiences. Here goes:

We needed an alarm clock. I naively packed my clock from home, thinking it would probably work with the converter. No go. So, after four days of being somewhat blissfully unaware of the time, and then yesterday deciding to take a day tour of the Irish countryside on Saturday, we realized we needed to get an alarm clock – and fast. No way are we going to sleep through our 9 a.m. pick-up time, right? (Keep in mind we are still adjusting to the 8 hr time difference = crisis point).

Travis tried unsuccessfully to locate an alarm clock earlier in the day; at Marks & Spencer (department store/food hall) and Boots (drug store) where they looked at him like he was… well, a tourist. And none of the clerks seemed to have the faintest idea of where an alarm clock – any type of clock – could be found. So, after a picnic lunch at the park and playground (a daily activity), we decided to go inside the mega-mall on Grafton Street to test our luck.

We wander aimlessly, not recognizing any of the store names of course, with the exception of T.K. Maxx (yes, that’s T. “K”. Maxx, not T. J. Maxx. Whatever.) On the second floor we see a store called “Argos” and I notice some posters on the entrance for electronics – jackpot! Travis stands in line while I kept an eye on L as he makes a beeline for the Toy Story items. A few minutes later, Travis calls me over. L begins to melt down because I’m taking him away from Buzz Lightyear (it was one of ‘those’ days today) but I drag him to the counter anyway. “Hey,” Travis says, “they have all sorts of items in this catalog, including alarm clocks. Just find one you want and they’ll go in the back and get it.” As I’m trying to look at the pictures, L is crying for Buzz and Woody (never mind that he already has enough Toy Story toys here and in our shipment) and it’s becoming quite clear that I cannot do this with a 3 year old hanging on my leg. Travis takes the kids out of the store and I say, “I’ll be just a minute.”

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha……….

I should add that Michael, the clerk, could not have been nicer with his thick Irish/African (don’t know which country) accent. Every clock I point to, he says, “Ahh yes, very nice, no problem, we have it.” I really don’t care what kind of clock we get and finally decide on one that costs 8 Euro – cheap & functional. He types in the number to the computer and confirms they have it in the back. This whole time I’m thinking, are you going to hand me the clock or direct me to the aisle? But then also thinking, this store is small, and there are a gazillion catalogs by the front entrance (who does the Sears Roebuck type of shopping these days?!). Again, hmmmmm. I then notice that the clock requires batteries, so he then looks those up in the catalog too, types the number, confirms they are in stock, etc. AGAIN, hmmmmm. I see all these batteries on the wall behind him and say, I’ll take that pack of ‘C’ batteries for the clock. NO. Have to access them via the computer. Looking at all those batteries reminds me that our digital camera batteries are dying, so I’d better pick up some of those too. Once again I point to the wall and say, I’ll take a pack of AA batteries. He then convinces me that that I should buy the batteries that cost a few more Euros because they have a longer battery life for my camera. He is so nice, so I give in. Once again, Michael rifles through the catalog to find their VIN number and types them into the computer. They have them in stock. (“No shit, I see them all on the wall,” I’m thinking…). Finally, in his pleasant accent, he tells me the total, collects my money, and gives me a receipt with a number. “Do I get the clock and batteries from you?” I ask naively. “Oh no, take your receipt to the other counter and they will call your number and bring it to you.”

Now if I were a sweet little old lady, I would really appreciate this customer service. But I am a middle-aged woman with two young children and a husband who is staring me down with daggers in his eyes from the middle of the mall, because L is still throwing a fit about Buzz and Woody.

I wait in the chairs by the other counter. NO ONE IS THERE but I am sitting, waiting for my number to be called. After a few minutes, I hear it, and proceed to the counter. A young kid, probably 20, gives me the clock and batteries. I look down. Crap. There on the counter are a pack of AAA batteries and I need AA batteries. I quickly review the conversation in my head with Michael and his methodical checking of the catalog and think, yes, I know we talked about size AA batteries. So I say as nicely as I can to the young man, “I actually ordered AA batteries.” He says,

“You need to get back in line for a refund.”

“You can’t just exchange them?”

“You need to get back in line for a refund.”

I am about to pop a gasket but instead take a deep breath, sigh, and chalk it up to being something different. Not better, not worse, but definitely different.

The best part? When I get back to the front of Michael’s line, he looks at me puzzled and says, “Did I not help you correctly?” I smile and reply, “Oh no, it’s just that I requested AA batteries instead of AAA batteries.”

“I didn’t give you AA batteries?”

“No.”

“Ahhh shit.” (He really said this. And I totally laughed out loud. I love Michael.)

“Can you just exchange them? I see they are the same price.”

“No. I have to give you a refund first, and then….”

You guessed it. I had to get BACK IN THE OTHER LINE AND WAIT FOR MY NUMBER TO BE CALLED TO RETRIEVE THE AA BATTERIES.