Last week, I confirmed something that, yes, I already knew.
I fucking hate Walmart with all of my being.
On a good day, I would usually prefer to trim my lady garden with a dull cheese grater over stepping one in-grown toenail in to the gates of Hell door to Volde-Mart.
But post-Festivus, Mr. Bee and I found ourselves in possession of roughly a metric fuckton of video games and DVDs (gotta love those relatives that give you a full year’s supply of VeggieTales – gag). Since we were 99% positive that said gifts were purchased at Volde-Mart, and since we found ourselves chock full of Holiday Cash (I really love those relatives!), AND since VM carries the type of SLR camera that I’ve having wet dreams about for years, we decided to return all those cherished gifts to cut the cost of the camera by a third or more.
And so begins my Lord of Rings-esque quest(s) through Wal-Mart Hell.
With an upcoming snow vacation looming (photos and stories soon!), last Tuesday I ventured out of my anxiety-free home with gifts galore to purchase my our lover camera.
So after I willed myself to have the intestinal fortitude to endure the customer service line, I found out that Wal-Mart sucks in a whole new and exciting way: you can only return items that carried at that particular store. Example: If you received gifts that were purchased online (or even at another store), you can only return them online or at that particular store. Even if it’s a bajillion miles away.
Of course, we don’t have the receipt, and although I weighed the ramifications, I decided we shouldn’t be totally rude and tell our relatives that, “Uh, thanks for the presents, but can I have the receipt? You know, just for, um, reference?”
After my FIRST VM visit (foreshadowing), I came away with only $30 of return money, about $100 short of what we thought we’d get. I was crushed. I suffered through my VM anxiety for this?!
I immediately called Mr. Bee for help because I am a whiny 5 year old who can’t do anything for herself. After a few hours and an acupuncture appointment, Mr. Bee tells me to go get my camera anyway.
Because he’s looking to get some totally awesome!
I was near a different VM that I knew should have the camera model (thank you Interweb) and arrived at my second VM of the day ready to swallow all of my pride and beliefs to give VM hundreds of Mr. Bee’s hard-earned money.
You know, if I could actually find the camera.
I’m told upon arrival that, “Oh, they lie online, we probably don’t have it, but let me look…yeah, no.” Then I’m told that said worker could look it up in the system to REALLY find a location with it…if only we had something to scan in.
Did you get that? I need to have THE CAMERA WITH THE BARCODE FOR HER TO SCAN in order to FIND THE CAMERA.
It’s like trying to look up how to spell “vaginal discharge” in the dictionary but needing to know how to spell it in order to look it up! (Thank God for spell check, right?)
Through a post-Christmas Wal-Mart Baby Jesus-esque Miracle, I actually found the barcode for the camera in a nearby catalog and worker bee went hunting yet again. Soon, low and behold, she found the camera!!
For $80 more than the online price.
Fuck. You. Walmart.
So after what seemed like 527,000 hours at 120 different Wal-Marts, I left with my tail between my legs and no camera.
It seemed too late to order it online (even with $17 rush shipping, fuck you again Walmart) in time for our upcoming snow vacation, so as a last resort I checked Amazon…
And found the camera! For $50 cheaper! And with $4 next day shipping!!
As of Wednesday, I we are the proud new owners of an SLR Canon. And I’m no Pioneer Woman, but hopefully the photos on the blog will suck a little less now.
So the moral of the story is Amazon rules and Wal-Mart drools.
Oh, and FUCK YOU WAL-MART. FUCK YOU TO HELL.
Song title: Wal-Mart Special by Royal Wade Kimes