How to Battle Best Buy

The always-entertaining James Lileks ventures out to Best Buy to purchase a DVD player, and the commentary is fabulous...

I was prepared to buy a plain-vanilla unit when I saw a player whose box proclaimed it would enhance DVDs for HDTV. Wha? Called over a salesguy. How does this work?
It adds information, he said.

Where does it get the information from? Does it call Hollywood and download extra lines? I thought I had the state of the art with a progressive scan 3:2 drop down whatever; am I missing dozens of lines of resolution? Tell me! I cannot watch another movie until I know I am seeing all available lines that make up the rich tapestry “Hollywood Homicide!” He couldn’t quite explain it. But it was better. Whatever it was.

Fine, I said, shoulders slumped. I have to have the latest & best to see movies at home. Anything to prevent that recurring dream where Roger Ebert climbs through the window and relieves himself on my home theater remotes. There are six remotes! I cannot believe a man could contain so much urine, even in a dream!

At the checkout counter the clerk asked for my phone number. “Why?” I said. I hate this new wrinkle. I just hate it. I hate the fact that I can’t buy a frickin’ candy bar without a procedure that rivals a mortgage application. I’m always interested in the rationale they give.

“We need the phone number before we can let the merchandise leave the store,” the clerk said. Practiced response, right out of the employee handbook. Fine. Let me say no, and let the burly boys tackle me as I try to leave with my paid merchandise. Sir! I need an area code sir! Then she said “This DVD player has a two or a four year extended warranty. Which one would you like today?”

This isn’t upselling; this is deceit. “Which one” doesn’t include the option of “neither,” of course. And then she offered me a free 8-week subscription to a magazine, so they could have my address as well as my phone number. Jaysus! Let me buy the fargin’ thing and let me go! You want a stool sample too? Here!

For the record, I love Best Buy, but find this habit of asking for personal information absurdly annoying as well. The rationale offered above is even dumber -- are the goods like adopted children? Will Electronic Device Welfare Services come see you if you fail to adequately care for your TV? As for a solution to this issue, try responding in Klingon pig Latin. The exasperated sales clerk will give up after five minutes, and you will have entertained everyone in line behind you.