I really should know better than to ever visit CompUSA. I really should.

I have only ever had bad luck at CompUSA. I’ve purchased a couple of things there, and both times I was the victim of crappy return policies, untrained store personnel, and general incompetence.

I am on the constant lookout for Bawls Guarana beverage. It’s good stuff, right up there with a Venti^TM Mocha Frappuccino®. Both beverages put me in a good mood, restoring faith in mankind and actually making me conducive to customer service. Yes, with a little chemical assistance, even I can help people.

The thing is, I know where to get the Frappuccino. Bawls, on the other hand, is nigh unto impossible to find locally.

I went to the Bawls site today and noticed they have a locator to help you find vendors that sell the tasty drink. There are two locations listed for Oregon, both being CompUSA stores.

One of the stores listed is reasonably close to my work. When I say reasonably, what I mean is “I can get there and back during my lunch hour if I drive like a mad bandit and traffic is lighter than it usually is.” Hesitant to embark on such a journey without some positive assurance that the beverage not only was carried, but was also in stock and at a reasonable price, I called them to verify.

After navigating through a sizable phone menu system, I got connected with someone who could (supposedly) discuss item pricing and availability with me. That conversation went something like this:

Pedro: Hello, and thank you for calling CompUSA. My name is Pedro [I don’t think that was his name, but he had a heavy, uh, Mexican accent which comes into play later] and I will be helping you to determine the pricing and availability for products. Can I please have your zip code? Me: 97202 Pedro: Okay, that’s the Jantzen Beach store. What products are you looking for today? Me: Actually, I’m interested in products at your Tigard store, over by Washington Square Mall. I can’t make it to the Jantzen Beach store. Pedro: Okay, what products are you looking for? Me: I’m interested in a drink you might carry. Pedro: A sink? Me: No, a drink. Bawls Guarana. Pedro: Heat sinks? Me: NO, a drink. You know, like you eat food, you drink water… a drink. Pedro: A drink? [Shit, man, do you fucking speak fluent English? I’m not mumbling over here…] Me: Yes, a drink. It’s called “Bawls Guarana.” Pedro: Okay… yes, we have it. Me: You do carry it? Good. Is it in stock? Pedro: Yes. It’s $16. Me: Is that for a case? I’m sure it’s not $16 a bottle. Pedro: Yes, it’s for a case of 12. Me: Perfect. And that’s definitely in stock at the store by Washington Square? Pedro: Yep. Me: Great! Thanks.

I hang up the phone with Pedro and I can’t say I don’t have a bit of an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. I really didn’t get the impression that he was clear on what I was asking for, but he did confirm - twice - that the stuff I was looking for was at the store by me. I decided to make the trip.

It took about a half hour to get there. I got in the store, did a cursory check, and I didn’t see anything. I then went to a “sales associate” to ask where I could find it.

“Bawls Guarana? We haven’t carried that for a while. Sorry.”

Mother fuckers! I can’t believe this shit. I mean, looking back on it, I guess I should know better than to even try to deal with CompUSA, but I couldn’t resist the idea that my beverage was within purchaseable reach.

It’s a good thing that guy was behind a counter or I’d have kicked him squarely in the shins.

So, no Bawls Guarana for me. ThinkGeek lets you order cases, but the shipping is a killer and brings the price of the drink up to $2.10 per 10oz. bottle, a little rich for my blood. I guess I’ll keep looking.

I have written before about my parents selling my toys out from under me at garage sales when I was a kid. Every once in a while, I look back on the stuff I had and wish I still had it.

Case in point: The silver Pez gun. I used to have a silver Pez gun. I remember it well. It rarely had Pez in it, but it worked and, like most of my toys, it was in damn good shape. This, like many of my other toys of value, was sold out from under me at a garage sale.

“But you weren’t playing with it!” cry the parents. No, not at this exact moment, I wasn’t. But that doesn’t necessarily imply that I’ve lost interest. I’ll get back to it later.

That didn’t seem to fly with my parents.

Dad’s always been a big fan of “paring down” the stuff we own. Sort of a “less is more” philosophy. I can understand that, as an adult, but even though I understand it, I still don’t practice it. I’m haunted by the idea that I’m going to get rid of something and then want to use it a week later. (This applies more to general household items, CDs, games, etc., than it does to straight up junk.)

Anyway, I used to have a silver Pez gun. I wish I still did. I just looked them up on eBay, and for a gun like that, loose (not on the card or with packaging), in good condition (not as good as I had my Pez gun in), you can get between $125 and $200.

I will not even get into how much money my other toys would be worth. I had lots of good stuff. No Star Wars stuff, mind you, but lots of cool stuff.

At least I still have my GI Joes, Transformers, and Legos.

There was a meeting yesterday afternoon between me and some contractors that are coming to work with us on some stuff at work. This was actually the second meeting, the first being last week.

The first meeting was bullshit. It was twenty minutes worth of information packed into an hour. Most of it was mutual masturbation crap

• “It’s a great opportunity to work with your company because “ and “True, but it will also be good experience for us to work with you because “ and so on. I still don’t understand all that; it’s not fucking international diplomacy or anything. But whatever.

The second meeting, yesterday, was much better. We got to start explaining what we had and where we wanted to go with things.

Where am I going with this meeting conversation? The thing is, during that meeting I finally got to explain to people some of the stuff I do all day long and have them appreciate what exactly it was that I did and how that (in my opinion) so elegantly solved the problem it was directed at. It was nice to be able to do that for once, because I don’t normally get a chance to. The stuff I do is invisible; if I do my job right, you’ll never know I was there - problems just disappear. Only other problem-solvers can truly appreciate the elegance of a good solution.

After that, I was yearning for some new tunes, so I headed over to the local Wherehouse.

Now, I’ve heard that several Wherehouse stores are going out of business because the people just aren’t coming in to buy records. Let me say this now - the people aren’t coming in to buy records because The Wherehouse charges too damn much. I appreciate that they maintain a brick-and-mortar shop so they can’t very well lower prices enough to beat online stores, but in many cases I can find albums for which The Wherehouse will charge 50% more than other brick-and-mortar shops. I mean, starting price over there was like $17 for a new CD. That’s crazy! I can get that same disc for $12 online, or maybe $14 at some other store. Forget it.

That said, they do have a decent used section, so that’s where I headed.

I went in looking for one or more of the following: Michael Jackson - Bad; Michael Jackson - Off The Wall; Soup Dragons - Lovegod; Red Hot Chili Peppers - Blood Sugar Sex Magik.

I did not find any of them.

I ended up coming out of the store with Simply Red - Greatest Hits and Michael Penn - March.

Why those?

Well, Simply Red… I’m not sure. That music sort of evokes a particular mindset for me. For example, you know when you go over to someone’s house for a party and everyone’s walking around with wine glasses and the entire house is decorated like a Pottery Barn catalog? You ever listen to the music playing on the ultra-high-fidelity low-profile stereo? It’s Simply Red. I just felt like picking that up for the bargain price of $8.99.

Most people don’t know who Michael Penn is. Besides the fact that he’s Sean Penn’s younger brother, he put out a song around 1989 called “No Myth” with a chorus that goes:

What if I were Romeo in black jeans What if I was Heathcliff, it’s no myth Maybe she’s just looking for Someone to dance with

The thing is, I think it was a pretty popular song, but no one ever knows who sang it. Anyway, I found the album that it’s on (which is hard to find as it is unless you order it online) and got it for $1.48. Can’t beat that. I’m still making my way through the other songs on there, but I figured, even if they all suck, that’s $1.48 for a single to a song that rocks. I can handle that.

(By the way, I had to look up who Heathcliff is. Apparently a character from Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. Never had to read that, don’t think I’m going to now.)

So I got out of The Wherehouse with two albums for a grand total of $10.47. Can’t beat that, can ya?

I just got this company-wide email that there’s a surprise party for the guy who just got promoted from President of the company to President and CEO. This gets me to thinking (as I am wont to do)…

Nobody throws parties for me or my group. We’re the IT people. If stuff breaks, we hear about it. When things work, someone else gets the credit. Now I get this notice that this guy got promoted from making way-too-much money a year to more-money-than-I’ll-see-in-my-lifetime a year, and he gets a party?

This whole thing rubs me the wrong way. I mean, this is like throwing a party for the cast of a successful Broadway production and not inviting the stage hands. You rely on the stage hands and technical crew. If they don’t do their job right, the stars of the show look bad and the whole production fails. But who gets the kudos? The asshole on stage who can barely remember his lines.

I suppose I should just accept the fact that I, like most folks out there, am in a totally thankless position. I suppose I should just move on with life. But stuff like this bugs me, like, on a gut level. This guy would be President and CEO of Cardboard Box Land if it wasn’t for people like me and my group.

Consider me pissed off.

After some recent database-related debacles at work, I once again entered a plea for actual, formal training in SQL Server 2000 administration. I mean, I’m expected to be a DBA half the time, and I really haven’t got the first clue what I’m doing. Many times, I just happen to guess things correctly.

Apparently my long-term begging has not been in vain - or maybe my manager is tired of me bitching - because I’ve been approved for the Administering a Microsoft SQL Server 2000 Database course at SQLSoft. Yay, me!