Life Is Short, and So Is Money.

That's what Brecht says, and I believe both and accordingly despise 'shopping.' It is not a grand political stand, and I don't live in a treehouse: I freely acknowledge that sometimes there are things that one needs, and that some of those things must be bought, with money, rather than fashioned from twigs and pre-chewed gum saved up for the occasion. And the things I buy I want and/or need, so once I have them I am pleased that I do. For example, the car without a puddle on the rear floor was a much-appreciated replacement for the one with the puddle.


But I don't like the process of it, certainly, nor do I enjoy the near-Las-Vegas levels of visual and auditory stimulation I have to go through just to get the thing I need. I also am not usually thrilled that there are so many other people there doing the same thing I am attempting to, except doing it more loudly, more assertively, and far, far more happily, with an unmistakable air of being where they belong and where, indeed, they wish to be. Many, in fact, are patently there to savor precisely the process, rather than even obliquely striving to pursue, and succeed at, a goal-directed mission. Myself, I have a list (and yes, fine, sometimes it is one item, but I am likely to forget even that when confronted with Shrek on thirty different widescreens while still trying agitatedly to figure out if plant lightbulbs are by lamps or potting soil), and I want to use that list, find the things, pay for the things, and get home.

But today it didn't work like that. The goal of the mission was a new computer. This had been coming a long time, and the last couple of days had made it urgent. I had done all I could with the old one, but tweaks and external crutches can only get one so far when it is the machine inside the machine that is dying. There are many cars on the road with 300,000 miles on them, but few have the original engine or transmission, and none have the original tires. And if the car spent most of its lifespan being driven in Labrador, at some point it is reasonable to step back and rationally consider whether putting a new engine in that old shell is the best course of action. In this case, it was not.

So, having looked for weeks and months at various offers, and becoming slightly conversant with where it is people for the most part go to buy computers, I decided I felt safer buying a new one than a used, and that a cheap one was fine as long as it had ample memory. I also decided against buying one online, as the wait would be longer, it could arrive damaged, and there was no way of telling at what precise moment the old one would completely stop working. It is not easy using it as it is now, but it is handier than not having it at all, especially if a lot of what I am doing with it is researching my options for replacing it...

The story didn't start off terribly. I had heard on NPR that the Great Satan of discount shopping, Wal-Mart, offered (cheap, obviously) computers now. I drove to a Super Wal-Mart at about 3 AM after having looked at the Wal-Mart website and seeing that there were many options. The drive itself was very pleasant, about an hour each way in the calm dark of the early-morning freeway. And inside the store, although it was admittedly hideously bright, it was as deserted as the roads. Nice. Very nice. But what is on the website isn't what is in the stores, and there were only a couple laptops, and they were ghastly. Even by my standards. I did, however, locate some Diet Coke and Fiddle Faddle, even a bottle of the rare Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi, but I got confused trying to find nutrition bars, and gave up. Still, the Fiddle Faddle added immeasurably to the pleasantness of the ride home, and the BBC had a very idiosyncratic long reportage on Kazakhstan's burgeoning oil-fed Wild West.

It didn't solve the problem of the moribund Pavilion, though. The next morning I got serious about used ones. That stern resolution crumbled upon itself after the first (interminable) conversation with the first seller, who didn't really have what he said he had but who would be getting other ones soon, tomorrow, even, from his 'purveyors,' if I wanted to wait, although he could never be sure, of course, what exactly those 'purveyors' would purvey to him, nor how long it would take him to get the computers into working order, but he would be happy to et cetera and I could rest assured that.

Thus.

I went to the Best Buy. At that point, it was for me like shutting up and shutting down the GPS and taking the circuitous but well-known route, as I had looked at their website the most, once I heard of the Best Buy about a month ago. I even had a piece of paper I had written their specials on, but that was at home, next to the computer.

I found the Best Buy easy to navigate. They had large signs with large letters hanging from the ceiling, and I was relieved that I didn't have to walk through cramped aisles of fishing tackle and foundation garments to get to COMPUTERS. Likewise I enjoyed the approach of the salesmen, whose low-pressure tactics could easily be taken for apathy and boredom. I didn't have many questions, either, since most relevant facts were on cards below the display versions of the laptops. When I did ask one guy why this one with so much memory was the same price as a nastynasty Acer with a processor from 1972, he said it was on sale and a very good buy and I said I think I had that one written down and I'd take it. I figured I had the cat in the bag by that time. Certainly at least a very large bird in the hand. In this I was mistaken.

I have never had anyone 'set up' my computer for me before, but he said it was standard and free and quick. I figured it must be quick, if it is quick for me and I don't do it all day. Then, he said that for only $29.99 they would configure? orient? what was it? --oh, yes, Optimize and Personalize -- it for me and that that would be quick, too. I am an idiot, and I said yes.

I had no idea what was to be 'personalized' about it, since they didn't ask me any questions or, as it turned out, input any information about me into it, but at that point I just wanted him to stop talking. I did want to be home soon, but at that exact moment what I wanted more was for him to cease speaking. I felt that $29.99 was a reasonable price for that service.

However, it wasn't quite over, as he had to ask various people if they could call Bill so that Bill could count the money a second time. Once Bill arrived and counted the money again, it took a few minutes for the two to figure out my change ($9.21), as the change drawer had already opened on its own and thus not displayed the correct change to give back. My salesclerk confirmed with the technical people that my Optimization and Personalization would be done within forty-five minutes. Of course, had I opted out, within that time I would have already been home and online...

Nonetheless.

I had it, at least in a sense, and that was closer than I had been at 3 AM in the Wal-Mart by the Indian casino lost among the Little Debbies. While I was leaving the store, though, to begin my waiting, my phone rang. The noise from the parking structure was so loud that I said I would go to my car and call from inside. Except that I couldn't find my car. I was pretty sure that I was on Level Four, which is, except for the highest and as-yet uncompleted level, the top one. Thus, easy to remember, so I figured that if Level Four was sticking in my head, there was probably a pretty good reason.

I knew the area I had parked in. I was pretty sure, too, that I didn't just know the aisle but the space. But my car wasn't there, in either aisle or space, not on Level Four or Level Three. I called my friend back, and could barely hear, but said I had lost my car and was really going to call her back, just not quite yet. I went all the way down to the bottom level, figuring that perhaps 'extreme end' was what I was remembering, and just mistaking which extreme, but I was wrong about that, too. And the configuration of the floor was totally different, which was at least helpful, so that I knew I didn't have to walk the whole floor.

I did find it eventually, and detoxed a while inside, next to the vandalized BMW that had angered someone by taking up two spaces in a crowded parking lot. Once I felt a bit composed again, I decided against my better judgment to restore my blood glucose at the food part at the Target, the only source for food in the little mall. It really didn't help much, because, despite the presence of baby-changing stations inside the restrooms just a few paces from where we were sitting, a young Chinese couple saw fit to change their baby's soiled diapers in the cafe area as two teenagers ran around the tables chasing each other and yelling. When I had eaten as much cheese off my pizza as I could stomach, I left the food area, bought some nutrition bars, and went to spend the rest of my wait at Ross.

No one was changing diapers at Ross, which gladdened my heart. But now, I was officially shopping. Aimlessly wandering the aisles of a store I didn't want to be in, looking for nothing in particular and with no goal other than passing time. I picked up a brassiere that may or may not fit, found they did not have towels like mine or shoes in a 5 1/2 or little girls' pants size 10 with straight-cut legs, and did not like the shape of the Turkish wine glasses which I wanted to buy just because they were from Turkey and no one drinks wine out of stemware there except at American hotel bars. But I put the bra in one hand and some candlesticks for the bedroom in the other and waited behind the other twenty masochists for the lonely cashier to set me free.

After that I returned, diminished, enervated, soulless, to the Best Buy, to be reunited with my Optimized and Personalized laptop. I waited in the Service line for a long time. Ahead at the counter was a schizophrenic lady in earthy clothes gesticulating madly at every word. Also much of the time when there weren't words accompanying her gestures. I asked the two guys in front of me if they thought this was the right line to wait in if I was just picking up a computer I'd already paid for, and one just stared at me and the other very annoyedly said 'I DON'T KNOW.'

I didn't actually need Service. On the other hand, I also didn't need an Online Order Pickup or whatever the other line by that one was. So, I thought it prudent to ask an employee in Computers where I would stand to pick up a computer I had bought an hour and a half ago that had just been Optimized. He said, That line there - you'll be first.

And I was. For a very long time. And many employees went by me, around me, in front of me, behind me, and almost through me, but whatever duties they were assigned to did not include helping the person in the vanguard of my imaginary line. I waited a very, very, very long time. After a while there weren't so many people coming in and out by me, which intuitively felt as though my hitherto slim chances of being served were now circling Nil or NaN. Finally, I, the person who never sends back a scorched sauce Mornay, who lets every pedestrian cross and every car cut in front of me that cares to, said, rather loudly, Is there anyone anywhere who could possibly help me just pick up a computer I bought today?

The guy who had been standing in front of me on the other side of the counter for the last twenty minutes came up and told me I wasn't waiting in a line, that that's the line there, and I said I was told to wait here and that's the only reason I was waiting here and could I just please get my computer and go home, it should be done by now could I just please get it so I can leave now please thank you.

And he did get it, and it took about 4.5 seconds, and I made it to my car on Level 2A, and the banged-up Beemer was still unmoved, still unseen by its uptight owner, and by now the parking lot wasn't so crowded and I made it out quickly and easily and took the counterintuitive route home and found the neighbor's cat waiting for me and my monkey candlesticks at the door. Next time, I swear I will buy anything, everything I need online. Even if it requires replacing things before they are absolutely 100 per cent completely no question about it dead dead dead, even if it means I don't get to break out the baling wire, kebab skewers, and yards of Velcro tape, I will do it, because I can put on some Ella Fitzgerald and silk pants, I can eat sushi or a bowl of chili or Little Debbies or Fiddle Faddle if I feel like it, I can burn sandalwood or Livani or both at the same time, or I could be dyeing my hair or setting my fingernail polish -- and all this without screaming fluorescent lights, poopy diapers in the wrong place, pushing, shoving, stripped brakes echoing off concrete, lines that aren't lines, 'Personalization' that is anything but, and the wretched sense that I've been had in some vague yet disturbing way at the end of all of it.

Who is a hero? He who conquers his urges. -The Talmud.