What time is it?? Shit. I’ve been standing here for almost twenty minutes. Just…standing here. Occasionally I’ll strode from one end to the other, stroking my chin thoughtfully. If I look interested, maybe they will help me. I stare at the screens for a few moments, taking in the deepest blacks, the crispest blues. Oceans so vivid, I feel like at any moment the foam will come rushing past my feet, drowning my ankles. Trees so life-like I find myself squinting sometimes when the sun comes peeking through the shivering leaves. Yep, this is what I have been waiting for. This is what I’ve wanted for the longest time. So, why are they ignoring me?

I’ve been denying myself all these years. Telling myself I couldn’t afford it. Convincing myself that with the situation as it was, it would be foolish of me to indulge. So I sat in frustrated silence, staring every night at that inferior 25 inch screen. It’s not that bad, is it? 25 inches is plenty, right?

HD? High Definition? What’s that? You don’t know? It’s welcome to the 21st century, Edison. Archie Bunker called. He wants his television back. Get with it, friend. Everybody’s got one. Randy’s got one 60 inches big. Jealous? Yes. Thou shalt not covet your neighbor’s…oh, but I want it. If his TV were a woman, it would have double D’s with tight denim shorts and the overwhelming desire to invite me up for coffee. I weep each time I walk into his house. Yeah, yeah. He’s got the great wife, the beautiful kid, a nice home. But I could care less about that. It’s that f*cking TV that I long for. And dammit, now’s the time…or so I thought.

Checking my watch again. The night is getting long. Today is Monday. If I buy the TV tonight, I will have it by Sunday. Me, hot pizza, cold beer and the Colts versus the Patriots on my brand new high def, 46 inch beauty. Now, if I can only get someone to help me.

They pass by me, one by one, all dressed in blue and khaki. I know they see me. I’m the only guy in the section. Yet, they zip right by like disgruntled cab drivers who have no intention on taking my black ass to Harlem. Don’t get me wrong. This wasn’t a black thing. I was being dissed by sales people of every color. As long as they were wearing the blue and khaki, I was just like Ellison’s invisible man.

“Why don’t you stop one of them?” you say. “Ask them to help you.” Hell no. Thing is, if someone is going to give you between two to three thousand dollars, they shouldn’t have to beg you to take their money. It doesn’t work that way. Not for me anyway. So, realizing that they weren’t that eager to bend over backwards or forwards or even look at me, I decided to hit the bricks and find a more amiable establishment.

A minute after walking through the doors of Circuit City and sauntering over to their big screen mecca, a guy named Clarence walks up. First thing, he shakes my hand. I like that. He knows this is business we’re talking. I mean, this isn’t Michael Corleone trying to take over a few casinos in Vegas kind of business, but it is business nonetheless. When you walk up and announce yourself and shake my hand, it’s a sign of respect. You’re telling me that even if I’m not here to buy anything, you’re here to serve. It especially means something when you know that the guy isn’t getting any commission. He’s just doing his job. It’s easier for some than others, I guess.

Clarence tells me about the 46 inchers, the ones I have my eye on. He shows me Sony and Samsung and then intimates that Samsung is just as good. With the extra money on Sony, all I’m paying more for is the name. Noted, Clarence. He then explains all the technical stuff to look for. And when I screwed my face with bewilderment, he asked me if I understood. If I said no, he took time to break it down for me. Another gold star for Clarence. I almost wished he were getting a commission. I almost wanted to leave the man a tip.

Finally, Clarence tells me that Circuit City will match any low price I may encounter at other stores for the same television. Great! But what sold me was when Clarence told me to wait until Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) to purchase my television. The price was bound to drop by then. What?? Doesn’t Clarence know that he should be nothing more than a used car salesman who sells televisions. He’s supposed to be shoving that 46 inch down my throat (that’s what she said). But no. He told me to wait. He told me how I could save my money. Damn, Clarence. You need a raise.

So, Best Buy…nevermore, my former friend. I will buy from you nevermore. From the little electronic knickknack to the montrous television that will keep me locked inside for entire weekends, my cash is going elsewhere. I’m Circuit City’s bitch now. Televisions, stereo equipment, game consoles. Whatever. I’ll go to Circuit City first and if I am not satisfied, I will go somewhere else. But I’m not handing you my hard-earned money again. Not that you care…but you should.

“Big mistake. Big. Huge! I have to go shopping now!”