Let's Take it Outside

It's obvious that advancements in technology have spoiled us when email becomes snail mail, the microwave doesn't cook fast enough, and internet shopping is inconvenient. At some point, growing pains rudely interrupt our high speed bliss. We are left sad and empty as visions of perfection fade from our future. How long can we realistically live in a world where sun beams spear computer viruses, encrypted motes protect our identity, and robots cook our dinner? Judging from recent experience, only until the robot drowns and the sunlight fries our hard drive. My romantic view of acquiring goods through the internet was shattered by such heartless reality just 10 days past yesterday.

All I wanted was a digital camera; one with endless manual options; one that would fit in my bag of which I call home 8 to 10 months out of the year; one that does not exist within a 200 mile radius of my current location. Meager selections in countless small towns have left me searching for, what I’d call, necessities. In such predicaments, I turn to the internet. This camera endeavor was the first pitfall of said process and thus justifies my hostility. Yellow Bee Photo has, single handedly, demolished the podium where hassle free spending once towered.

I won't even start at the beginning of this debacle because it's a long damn story; and outside of my tantrums surrounding the subject, it's quite boring. I will say that a simple matter of payment for services has never brought me such ill health—mind, body, or spirit. Like most, I've come to accept disappointment, but not on a professional level. Services were "agreed" upon over the phone. (Services meaning a specific digital camera with certain accessories were to be expedited to me for a particular sum of money.) An email confirming my order was promised.

Days go by. The only email I received was one requesting that the shipping address be added to my credit card. Done. The order still doesn’t ship. I wanted it – like – yesterday, and I paid for such service. Fast shipping is similar to fast food; there are reasons you make sacrifices for speed of service—you’re in a *_@&#-ing hurry. During this time of elevated blood pressure, I can view my INCORRECT invoice online. I frantically call, hoping to correct the contents before shipment.

Never – aside from boy infatuations as an adolescent – have I tried so desperately to contact someone. Several hundred minutes of cell phone time wasted in efforts to get through to a forgotten customer service line. Many brain cells sacrificed to compose visually vocal emails to every department listed on Yellow Bee’s web site—never to be returned. It takes a lot of energy to be angry. But I’ll entertain those bastards until I get tired. And then it’ll get ugly.

After 10 days of attempted reconciliation, I relinquished the battle to greater persuasion. I filed complaints with the Better Business Bureau and my credit card company to dispute “services” provided by Yellow Belly, I mean Bee. We’ll see how they like that. I just can’t waste any more time on those ninnies. I need to get back to my delusions of convenience. There are birthday presents to buy and they can’t be found within a 200 mile radius.

. . . Due to the inefficiencies of my wireless internet access card (how ironic), it has taken some time to post this piece. In the meantime, Yellow Bee has sent a rapid battery charger as a condolence gift—ONE OF THE VERY THINGS MISSING FROM MY ORDER. They understand that I am dissatisfied with my shopping experience, so they sent me -one of three things still missing from my order . . . as a gift. Oh! I feel so much better.