Childlike

Chapter 14 The Exchange

Chapter 14

The Exchange

            We dropped Missy off at Warehouse Toys then drove across the street to Warehouse Electronics so Mick could return a radio. Warehouse Electronics is one of those mega-stores with merchandise piled high to the rafters and claiming the lowest prices and best customer service in the world.  I had never been in one of these mega-stores so I was ready to be impressed.

We walked in and were immediately greeted by a chipper high school aged girl with blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing a blue and gold cheerleader’s outfit with W-E written across her chest.  When we said we had a return she sang:

“Give me a R and an E and a T-U-R-N, Return, Return! Returns are taken at the end-, Of the counter!”

She ended in a cutesy pose pointing with her pom-poms to the end of a long Formica counter directly behind where she stood.

“Ah me, me,” Mick said.  I smiled at her but she didn’t bat an eye, holding her cheerleading pose until another customer came in through the doors.

At the counter a thin middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, bushy moustache, gold wire framed glasses and a quiet smile, waited on us. “How may I help you?” He asked.

“I want to exchange this radio,” Mick told him.

“Is there something wrong with it?”

“Nah, I just need one with a tape drive.”

“Ah yes.  Do you have a receipt?” He asked happily, just dying to help us out.  Mick pulled out his nylon wallet that was bulging at its seams with about a hundred coupons, I.D. cards and a few dollars, making the thing three inches thick.  He opened it and delicately pulled out a receipt that he handed to the man.

“Very good,” the clerk said as he took the receipt and began to study it and as he did, his chin fell to his chest, his shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly and his moustache drooped. “Ah, I’m afraid you’re over our 30 day return policy.  You bought this 31 days ago,” he said shaking his head. “I’ll have to get the manager.”  We watched him head for a doorway behind the counter and disappear from our sight.

“How could you Mick?” I said, taunting him. “Thirty-one days! Some people!”

“Eye, eye, eye!” He said. The cheerleader was now singing, “I’m a little radio, short and stout!”

“You have a return?” An older, thin looking man said, this time white-haired, with an even bushier mustache, a set of thick lenses in black plastic frames.

“Ah today!” Mick said. I just nodded my head yes.

“Is anything wrong with it?”

“Ah me, me!” Mick whispered, rolling his eyes.

“No, just need one with a tape drive,” I answered him.

“Do you have a receipt?” He asked.

“I can see you guys get well trained,” Mick said holding out the receipt.  The man ignored him and took the receipt.

“Oh,” said the man, his chin to his chest, shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid that you’re over our thirty day return policy. I’ll have to get a manager.”

“You’re not the manager?” Mick asked.

“Oh no,” the man smiled, then walked away, out of sight of the counter.

“Maybe you have to meet each store member, you know, each one coming out as if you’re some kind of dignitary,” I said amusingly. “King Mick of the valley!”

“Sil-vah!” He yelled. The cheerleader was shouting, “Whether you’re rich or poor, whether you sleep or snore, at Warehouse Electronics your dollar buys you more!”

This time a lady came out dressed in a tie and shirt like the two men before her but wearing a tight black leather skirt. “May I help you?” She asked smiling at us with a wide smile and a stunningly white set of teeth contrasting with her black hair and livid brown eyes.  Mick pointed at the radio and held out the receipt. She took it without reading it, placing it on the counter then proceeded to open up the box that contained the radio.  It slid out easily wrapped in a clear plastic bag, warranty cards and what not in another clear bag.

“You never opened it,” she said cheerfully puzzled.  She started to put it back in the box but it must have expanded for she couldn’t seem to get it to slide back in.

“Need a tape drive,” Mick muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh,” she giggled, leaving the paper work out then easily sliding the radio back in.  She then picked up the packet of warranty information and attempted to slide it into the box as well. It resisted, so she forced it in, ripping the box with a loud noise.

“Opps! These things never go back in as easy as they come out,” she laughed.  Then she looked at the receipt. “Oh, you’re over the thirty day return policy,” she said as Mick lip-synced with her. “I’ll have to get a manager.” She walked away and like her colleagues before her, disappeared from sight.

I looked at the ripped up box and laughed. “You could have taken better care of the radio if you were going to return it Mick,” I said, still laughing.

“Ah Sil-vah!” He yelled.

Now a short chubby guy who looked even younger than the high school cheerleader that greeted us at the door, came up to the counter. “May I help you?” He asked in a squeaky voice.

“We need a manager,” Mick bellowed.

“I am the manager,” he answered in an even squeakier voice.  I almost laughed again.  Mick just handed him the receipt and told the young man that he wanted to return the radio, apparently deciding against an exchange.

“Oh, you’re over our thirty day return policy,” he told us, shaking his head, chin to his chest and shoulders slumping.

“Ah me, me,” I said.

“Sil-vah!” Mick exclaimed as the guy continued with, “And you’ve ripped up the box! How can we take this back in such poor condition?”