Why you should not shop at Best Buy

So I get home yesterday, and I sit down to watch some TV. Those of you who have come to my home and mooched off of my hospitality already know that my set is a widescreen projection TV. No, I'm not bragging; these details are actually relevant to the story.

So I turn on the TV, and lo and behold, there is a spider on the screen. A minor annoyance, to be sure! With courage in my heart, I arose from the couch to vanquish my eight-legged foe. I tried to shoo him off the screen, but it didn't take. That was when I realized: the spider was inside the television. Eeeeek!!

I tried tapping the screen. That made her move her legs a little, but all in all she wasn't too perturbed. (Yes, this was clearly a girl spider. Like Charlotte.) Realizing that my movie-watching enjoyment would be lessened by the ever-present spider, I did something completely futile: I called the lying dipshits at Best Buy, who I am not at all Google-bombing.

How are they lying dipshits, you ask? To answer this question, we must travel back in time to November 2002, when I purchased the set from an Atlanta Best Buy. I also bought a 4-year, $300 protection plan, even though my brother told me I would be stupid to do so. Hey, look, the sales representative was very convincing, okay?

Look, I?m willing to admit when I?m stupid, and I admit: I was stupid. I should have realized something was up, because another sales rep told me the television would only work with satellite TV (which required more hardware and a service subscription), even though common sense told me that nobody would manufacture a television that isn?t compatible with cable. I knew he was lying, at least. I also might have benefited from a more close read of the protection plan, which plainly states that it does not cover intentional or accidental damage, and then proceeds to list a whole lot of other things it doesn?t cover, including ? natch ? insect infestation, which I promise I?ll get back to shortly. The point is, I wasn?t jaded enough yet to realize that total strangers were lying to my face.

Fast forward six months. My roommate insists on using the set?s 4:3 aspect ratio mode to watch regular TV. Neither of us realizes that excessive use of this feature will lead to image burn. Sure enough, the left and right sides of the screen are oddly more yellow than the middle part. Assuming ? and I want to point out that I?m really putting myself out there by posting this, and I don?t need you to make fun of me when I?m in such an emotionally vulnerable position ? assuming that the bulbs needed to be rotated (oh god), I called the Best Buy people. This is when I was informed that the protection plan really only covers, and I quote, ?lightning strike.? I didn?t ask if it also covers lottery-winning.

Understand, gentle reader, that this television was an extravagant purchase, by which I mean ?more than I should have spent, on anything.? So when I looked at that screen with its yellowing sides and realized how much I had spent to watch movies that way, tears welled up in my eyes. Tears?of righteous rage.

It took about three days of phone-calling, ?I want to speak to your supervisor?ing, and all the whining you would expect from a person like me, before I finally got on the phone with someone in a position to make actual decisions. It was the guy who ultimately decides whether a customer gets a replacement unit or not.

What I loved about this guy was that he had emotional depth. None of Best Buy?s other phone people seemed to care about me or my situation, but this guy seemed genuinely depressed. I imagined him, sitting in his office at a distribution center somewhere in the boonies, and in my imagination he looked like a human, live-action Droopy Dog. I told him the whole story.

Seriously, I was almost ready to give him a refund. If the TV hadn?t been so damned expensive I might have let it go, but instead, when he was at his weakest, I did the unthinkable: I dropped the ?you don?t want to lose a valued customer? bomb. I hated myself even as I did it, but my replacement set was on the way. And that was the end of that aside.

So getting back to my more recent problem, which you may or may not remember was a spider behind the screen. I called the lying dipshits, and was promptly reminded that my protection plan does not cover insect infestation.

Long story short: I figured out on my own how to open up the set, and discovered that inside is a magical world of lights, wires, a big-ass mirror, and spider webs; I dispatched of the spider and scooped out about a handful of webbing, which was gross; and I charged myself $90. Then, I renewed my vow to tell the world to never shop at Best Buy.

If you absolutely must buy something from Best Buy, remember always the three rules.

1. Never believe a word the sales representatives say. They are, in ways you can not imagine, lying dipshits. In fact, if one of them tries to talk to you, kick him or her in the shin and spit in his or her eye.
2. For the love of God, do not buy the protection plan. It protects nothing and is a total scam. Best Buy is not your friend.
3. No matter how much they beg, whatever you do, never ever feed a Best Buy employee after midnight. I can?t stress that one enough.