Visited Best Buy Last Night
Posted: Thu Nov 16, 2006 7:23 pm
-and experienced the usual attack of over stimulation and media-induced apoplexy.
Lately, for some inexplicable reason, I've had Scott Jopin piano rags running through my noggin. I stopped at the CD rack, looking vainly for music from the 1920s while my rib cage rattled to the thunderous rap music blaring overhead. The rappers talked about hoes and muthafuckas and jackin people up and sounded very pissed off about everything. Does the anger ever go away? Do they ever mellow out? If you gave them a puppy would they say stuff like "Yo-yo, muthafucka, I'm gonna fukken pet that muthafukkin puppy bitch and if he bites my finger I'm gonna pop a cap in his muthafukkin ass, know what I'm sayin??"
The "music" made me dizzy and I felt transformed into a weird amalgam of Hank Hill, Red Green, and the Simpson's Mr. Burns. I scowled at the overhead security cameras and pointed to the speakers, mouthing the words, "TURN THAT SHIT OFF!" which was transmitted to a teenaged security guard somewhere in a back room.
But no luck.
I moved on to the DVDs, looking for boxed sets of Sherlock Holmes, Beverly Hillbillies, and old Laurel and Hardy movies, but struck out on all three.
A young sales gal ran up and introduced herself as Christine, but she was unable to help. I asked her about all the tents outside in the cold parking lot and if Best Buy was adding sporting goods to their line of products.
"Oh no," she said, "Those are people who are waiting in line to buy the new Play Station III. They've been out there for over a week."
I said, "They're camping? On the cement? To buy video games?
We were standing near a shelf containing hundreds of copies of DVDs called Hostel, SAW, SAW II, SAW BLEEPS AND BLOOPERS, etc. -- movies where people are tortured to death on camera for the entertainment of teenagers.
"That makes me feel sad," I added.
She said "Oh no, the new Playstation is really cool. You can drive dune buggies in the Grand Canyon."
"If I can help you with anything else just let me know, and my name is Christine!" she said happily.
I made my way to the TVs, all costing thousands of dollars, some the size of garage doors, and watched with alarm at the nostril hairs, yellow teeth, and potential squamous cell carcinomas displayed in high definition on a replay of the World Series. "Geeze, that pitcher ought to see a dermotologist," I thought to myself.
"Are you looking for a new Hi-Def TV?" a clerk asked.
I asked if the one in front of me was really $385 and he said no, that was the price of the stand. The TV retailed for over $5 grand.
I left the TV aisle reeling, hoping to play "Polar Bowler" on a PC and soothe my jangled nerves, but after the fourth salesman pestered me I gave up and went home.
Once safe on the couch, my wife wrapped me in a blanket and gave me a glass of wine, but it was hard not to think of all those poor nerds out there in sleeping bags, enduring another chilly night for the chance to plunk down $500 bones and drive Playstation dune buggies in the desert.
Lately, for some inexplicable reason, I've had Scott Jopin piano rags running through my noggin. I stopped at the CD rack, looking vainly for music from the 1920s while my rib cage rattled to the thunderous rap music blaring overhead. The rappers talked about hoes and muthafuckas and jackin people up and sounded very pissed off about everything. Does the anger ever go away? Do they ever mellow out? If you gave them a puppy would they say stuff like "Yo-yo, muthafucka, I'm gonna fukken pet that muthafukkin puppy bitch and if he bites my finger I'm gonna pop a cap in his muthafukkin ass, know what I'm sayin??"
The "music" made me dizzy and I felt transformed into a weird amalgam of Hank Hill, Red Green, and the Simpson's Mr. Burns. I scowled at the overhead security cameras and pointed to the speakers, mouthing the words, "TURN THAT SHIT OFF!" which was transmitted to a teenaged security guard somewhere in a back room.
But no luck.
I moved on to the DVDs, looking for boxed sets of Sherlock Holmes, Beverly Hillbillies, and old Laurel and Hardy movies, but struck out on all three.
A young sales gal ran up and introduced herself as Christine, but she was unable to help. I asked her about all the tents outside in the cold parking lot and if Best Buy was adding sporting goods to their line of products.
"Oh no," she said, "Those are people who are waiting in line to buy the new Play Station III. They've been out there for over a week."
I said, "They're camping? On the cement? To buy video games?
We were standing near a shelf containing hundreds of copies of DVDs called Hostel, SAW, SAW II, SAW BLEEPS AND BLOOPERS, etc. -- movies where people are tortured to death on camera for the entertainment of teenagers.
"That makes me feel sad," I added.
She said "Oh no, the new Playstation is really cool. You can drive dune buggies in the Grand Canyon."
"If I can help you with anything else just let me know, and my name is Christine!" she said happily.
I made my way to the TVs, all costing thousands of dollars, some the size of garage doors, and watched with alarm at the nostril hairs, yellow teeth, and potential squamous cell carcinomas displayed in high definition on a replay of the World Series. "Geeze, that pitcher ought to see a dermotologist," I thought to myself.
"Are you looking for a new Hi-Def TV?" a clerk asked.
I asked if the one in front of me was really $385 and he said no, that was the price of the stand. The TV retailed for over $5 grand.
I left the TV aisle reeling, hoping to play "Polar Bowler" on a PC and soothe my jangled nerves, but after the fourth salesman pestered me I gave up and went home.
Once safe on the couch, my wife wrapped me in a blanket and gave me a glass of wine, but it was hard not to think of all those poor nerds out there in sleeping bags, enduring another chilly night for the chance to plunk down $500 bones and drive Playstation dune buggies in the desert.
