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Clicking into the convenience of online shopping
Wearing comfortable sweats and fuzzy slippers, I locate my daughters' wish lists: Princess Barbie, Wedding Barbie, black Lab Beanie Baby, Pet Lovin' Barbie and Taco Bell bobbing head Chihuahua. I select a few, put them in my electronic shopping cart and click the checkout button.
On the checkout screen, I type in all my coupon numbers. Whoops. The screen informs me I am allowed only one coupon per order. Fine, I'll order everything separately.
With a few mouse clicks, I delete all items from my shopping cart except the "Who Wants To Be A Zillionnaire" game. As my computer deletes the items, I make coffee (also bought online).
Last year, while I cruised for a parking space, a mother with a stroller blocked the lane. She talked to a friend hanging out her car window, apparently solving a nuclear physics problem. When they finally finished and moved, I followed a shopper loaded with bundles to her car. I waited while she put 2,000 packages in her trunk, brushed snow from the windshield, searched for her keys, got in, applied lipstick, tuned in her favorite radio station and finally pulled out. Before I could take my foot off the brake, a flashy sports car zipped in from the other direction and took my spot.
This year, I don't need a parking space. The screen shows that everything except the game has been deleted. I enter one coupon number and try to pay.
BigWhoppingToyKingdom.com says it has two credit card numbers for me. I delete the expired one, click on the new one and wait while my file is updated.
I'm still ahead of last year. Last year, I got the last parking spot, tromped through piles of snow to the mall entrance and shuffled from store to store. I sweated from carrying my heavy coat, yet my feet felt like melting ice cubes. With each step my shoes made little squishing noises. But not this year.
This year, my feet feel cozy. The message on the computer screen tells me it is now ready for my coupon number. The phone rings - a friend of my 12-year-old daughter, Kate. Returning my attention to the screen, I can't remember which coupon I used. I enter a number. The program won't accept it.
OK, I'll just log off and back on, grab a second cup of coffee and laugh at more of last year's snafus. In line at the music store, the customer in front of me dropped a stack of CDs as she placed them on the checkout counter.
``Oh, oh, the case on this one's cracked,'' she said, moving her fingers over the cellophane. ``I need a new one.''
Speedy, the clerk, who was only working for the employee discount, left his cash register and sauntered past 14 aisles for another copy of "Peace on Earth, Good Will To All Tired and Crabby Shoppers." The other 4,000 shoppers and I waited.
But that was last year. This year, as I sip my brew and type in another coupon number, a message displays on the screen, in red print.
``Only one promotional gift certificate can be used per customer. We are unable to apply the credit to your order.''
``But this is my first order!'' I yell at the screen, slapping my hand on the desk.
I take three cleansing breaths and then call BigWhoppingToyKingdom.com customer service. The prerecorded message begins, ``Press 1 if you have forgotten your password, press 2 for customer assistance.'' Before I can do anything, I hear a beep and then, ``Thank you, I will transfer you to auctions.''
``Are you still on the phone, Mom?''
``Kate! Get off the phone,'' I yell, spilling coffee on my coupons. I pull them apart - they rip. I squint at the numbers. Is this an 8 or a 3?
Clenching my jaw, I pick up the phone receiver and redial. This time, the recording says in that lilting voice, ``Please continue to hold, a customer service specialist will be with you shortly.''
Seventeen minutes later I have lost all feeling in the hand holding the receiver.
``Mom, when you gonna get off the phone?'' Kate yells.
The prerecorded voice says, ``You may apply each gift certificate to different orders. BigWhoppingToyKingdom.com keeps a list of the numbers so that you don't have to enter them each time you order.''
``I tried that, and it didn't work!''
The phone Muzak plays "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" for the millionth time.
A recording breaks in, ``We hope you enjoy all these conveniences ordering over our Web page. Please continue to hold.'' Conveniences? What conveniences? I have been on the computer for more than an hour, I can't feel my hand, I have hot coffee in my lap and I haven't bought a single present.
I'm hanging up, schlepping to the mall and sprinting from store to store buying gift certificates. When my daughters open envelopes Christmas morning, I'll tell them they can redeem their ``presents'' on Dec. 26. Their father will take them.
Jennifer Angelo is a Pittsburgh free-lance writer for the Tribune-Review.
