Our story begins with an illusion, an illusion of something great. However, like all illusions, things were not what they seemed.

On an otherwise ordinary day, I learned of a situation. Not just any situation, mind you, but one that could possibly forever change my day for the better. Our vending machine at work had not one, but two bags of Lays BBQ Kettle chips barely hanging off the edge of their row. Apparently, all that needed to be done to aquire these extra bags of deliciousness was to purchase the one bag behind them. You read that correctly, three bags for the price of one. I felt like a contestant on The Price is Right, except here, there was no way I could lose.

Now, let's not get into the logistics of how this machine managed to get those two bags stuck in the first place. I know I didn't. No, at the time, I was ready to pounce on this opportunity much like a prospector in the old west, panning for gold. I don't even think I was in the mood for chips. But that wasn't the point. No, the point was that if I didn't go after these "free" chips, someone else would. And I couldn't let them get away. I put in my crisp dollar bill, and make my selection, "307".

"Make Another Selection"? What?! Are you kidding me?! I enter 307 yet again, and again I am faced with the same instructions. "Make Another Selection." Coming across as evil, and almost condescending, the vending machine now has me mildly furious. But that's fine. You know what, I didn't really want the chips in the first place. I merely wanted three bags of chips for the price of one. So it wasn't meant to be; I understand that. I'll just take my money back please.

What?!?!? "No Change Without Purchase"? But you won't let me purchase what I want! No matter how many times I push the refund button, I get nothing. At this point, I'm at a loss. The machine has won. The inanimate machine has the upper hand, and now I have to make a purchase or simply lose my hard earned dollar bill. Fine. I give in, and end up with a whooping ONE bag of Baked Lays Potato Chips.

The moral of the story is, well, I don't really know. I wanted three bags of BBQ Kettle chips and ended up with Baked Lays. Not at all the same. So maybe the moral is, "Don't buy chips"?

Just for you, Steve.

For 7 years, I worked at an electronics store called, "The Good Guys". They've since gone away, but I came across something that I saved from my time there. On occasion, customers would send letters to the store, usually to thank a helpful salesperson, manager, or someone from the stock room. After I left the company, I kept most of my letters, and one letter in particular. This one's quite unique, and I wanted to share it with you here.

 

Milner Racing Cams
December 22, 1998

From: Henry Duntov, Chief Engineer
The Good Guys
2322 Stevens Creek Blvd.
Santa Clara, CA 95420

Attn: Store Manager

                I have never written a letter like this before but I feel obligated to do so after the surreal service that was lavished upon me at your store.  I was in the midst of some last minute Christmas shopping at your store and the experience was so far mediocre at best.  After a few minutes of being totally ignored by the inattentive and apathetic salesmen in your home audio department, I began to feel less than valued.  I was about to flee the godforsaken hell-hole that you call a store to try my luck at the spacious and low-priced wonderland that is Circuit City.  I was finally noticed by a salesman who was trying to push me over to get to the employee break room.

                The salesman called himself “Rex”, most likely because of his deranged and narcissistic delusions of greatness.  After bumping into me, he asked a serious of questions – which included, “what the hell is your problem?” and “why you getting’ all up in my face?”.  I told him that I was looking for a moderately priced home theater receiver.  After telling me that I should either “get serious” or go to K-mart, he punched a hole in the wall while screaming at me, “your face, right here!”.  Out of desperation, I selected a receiver model that I assumed was suited to my needs.  I then had to beg a salesman named “Tim” to postpone his break for five minutes and sell me the receiver.  Tim agreed to take my money for the receiver on the condition that I bought a pair of floor-standing speakers.  If I did not buy the speakers, Tim said that I would, “be sent into a world of pain”.  Out of fear for my own life, I agreed to his terms.

                At last I was at the customer service window, where a man named Ivan was to bring the reluctantly purchased goods to my car.  This “Ivan” character was of a frightening size and had the hollow stare of a mad man.  I realized that he would be the death of me and I began to think back upon my life with a bit of sentimental melancholy.  Rather than lunging on top of me and pummeling my skull repeatedly with this giant, Croatian fist – he instead asked me where I had, “parked my pile of crap”.  His words, that would have otherwise insulted me greatly, actually soothed my beaten spirit.  All was quiet as I lead him to my vehicle.

                There was a magical quality about Ivan that I could not identify.  Maybe it was the way that his smell reminded me of my grandfather, a rather potent mix of cheap gin and cigarettes.  Perhaps it was the way that he made a fist at everybody who looked him cockeyed, just like my Uncle William at the state hospital does. No matter the reason, Ivan’s mannerisms whirled me into a state of euphoric bliss.  He obviously sensed that my shopping experience was not a pleasant one and then tried to lift my spirits by pretending to be under the influence of narcotics by loading my speakers into a child’s stroller. We all enjoyed a good chuckle at this prank, even the mother of the child let out a nervous laugh.  I asked Ivan where the best place to put the merchandise would be and Ivan, always the comedian, told me to “bend over”.  By this time I had laughed away all of the feelings of animosity towards The Good Guys that were eating at my stomach lining.  I was reborn by the gentle caring that Ivan had exhibited.  The large and obnoxious speakers where a tight fit in the trunk of my Mazda Miata, but through a series of ramming head-buts by Ivan, they fit like a glove.  My only regret during this life-affirming encounter with this king amongst men is that I wasn’t able to thank Ivan, he had disappeared into the fog before I could.  He even forgot his hand-truck in a feverish, workaholic haste.  God be with you Ivan and I hope that this letter finds you in good health.  This is a great man that you have in your employment.  Treasure Ivan as I will my memory of our encounter, with fond and thankful regard for the rest of my days.

Sincerely,
Henry Duntov
Chief Engineer