Baby Depot - Ghost Town Edition

Special Guest Author: Jack McDade



Ah, Latham Circle Mall. Never heard of it? That's easy to believe. Never been? Even easier to believe. It's reminiscent of cactus kickin', tumbleweed blowin', gold-minin' towns of old after the posse rounded up the cattle and kicked the dirt off their spur-sporting, gold-toed boots and let the wild reclaim the land once more. When we opened the front door, a vulture screeched from the rafters. A lonely bum slept under the pretzel stand. He didn't even look up. Storefront after abandoned storefront stretched as far the eye could see. Off in the distance a small amount of activity could be discerned revolving around an Old Country Buffet and movie theater. But it's arguable that the people were, in fact, ghosts.

In the midst of this ghost town stood our destination: Baby Depot, nestled inconveniently inside Burlington Coat Factory. In case you're wondering, yes, Burlington Coat Factory is still open, and no, it doesn't just sell coats. Apparently.

We're met with Quality Customer Service and Logical Planning Case Number 1: Baby stuff is upstairs, so all the pregnant woman have to travel further than anyone. Case Number 2: the up escalator is broken. We trudge up the narrow and precarious now-stairs, fully expecting to be blind-sided by zombies in this abandoned and disheveled store. The two female clerks at the front stare, apparently unaccustomed to visitors. I think one of them reached for the cash register manual, preparing for the worst.

We finally arrive at the top, our senses on heightened alert. We swear we've seen this exact scene in 28 Days Later.

Baby Depot. Nirvana. Or one would hope. We have a coupon and we're determined to use it. Surpassingly, there is a fair amount of selection. We head towards the first aisle.

"Hello."

A life-form appears from behind the baby registration desk. She's short, old and talks out the side of her mouth like Holly Hunter. Except more annoying.

"Can I help you find something?"

We're just looking. We tell her and make to move past. Mistake number one. Always humor the zombies, they might not attack.

"Well anything you see here we have on the floor but it doesn't mean we have it in stock and if the price tag has a black dot right here it means it's on sale and if the tag is red it means that the accompanying combo piece is half off the normal price but not a discounted price and if you find something you like let me know and I check the price sheet and see if we have any in stock and if we don't have any we can order it for you and it will only take 12 to 14 weeks to get here and if we're out and won't be ordering more we can sell you the floor model but only if it's not on the price sheet ok?"

Reeling from confusion we tried to process the manor in which we now would have to shop.

The only response... "Thanks!"

12 to 14 weeks would imply some poor Malaysian kid would be chewing the trees down to make the necessary lumber before crafting the crib by hand (well, by stub, since his boss chopped his hands off for taking a break to visit his 12 year old mother's grave on the anniversary of her death), by candlelight, and subsequently fashioning a raft made of sticks and lashing them together with his little sister's precious hair and kick-paddling the item across the Pacific Ocean to San Diego where he transfers the crib to a turtle-cart, sending them across the country with a cripple leading the way. Best case scenario.

So we're down to what's in stock. Easy enough right?

We browse the aisles up and down, keeping a wary eye for surprises and trying to ignore the hair on the back of our necks, while we analyze the cribs for color, style and price. Surprisingly we found a set we quite fancied. A quick calculation for our coupon resulted in a potential match. Hearts quickly sunk however once we realized the next step. "Excuse me, miss?"

Pandora's box opened. A mess unlike any seen before exploded before us.

"Oh you like this one? Great ok let me get the price sheet and write this down so I can check if we have any but I'm pretty sure we're out of the combo-dresser but we might have the crib in stock okay I'll be right back don't go anywhere I'm getting the price sheet and then I'll have to go downstairs and check the back to make sure we're actually out because our computer usually is wrong ok price sheet time be back ok don't go anywhere!"

We were pretty sure there was a computer nearby and a barcode on the price tag, but apparently it doesn't work that way. Simplicity is out the window. We're at Baby Depot - Ghost Town Edition.

5 minutes later she arrives with a clipboard the size of Texas and a pen that doesn't work. 4 minutes later she comes back with a pen that does. 3 minutes later she comes back after checking the (apparently) mainframe computer. 2 minutes later we understood what she told us. They were out of stock.

"But let me check downstairs in the back the computer is usually wrong so I'm going to check anyway just in case so I'll put the price sheet back and go check ok?"

We're sure this will end well.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. There must be more than 2 floors to this place. Goblins are probably working some hand-cranked lift-system lowering this woman down a deep, dark shaft of darkness.

Then she was back. Yup, out of stock. We doubted she actually went anywhere.

Perfect opportunity to exercise some Dave Ramsey negotiation techniques. Let's get a deal on floor model. It had a few scratches (hopefully not resulting from zombie-babies and therefore infected with saliva that would spell our inevitable and sudden doom) which meant possible deeper discounts.

"So can you make us a deal on the floor model? Let's get down to brass tax."

I never talk like that. Oh well. Game face is on, no turning back.

"Oh I don't know if we can sell the floor model I'll have to check the price sheet and if it's on there we can't sell it because it's on the price sheet but if it's not on the price sheet we can talk to a manager and see if there's something we can do so I'll go get the price sheet and come back and we'll take a look at the price sheet ok?"

Again with the price sheet. We hoped it wasn't code for "Fresh Meat in Aisle 19." Time passes. We hide from sight just to be safe.

"Okay it's on the price sheet so we can't sell it I'm really sorry." And she's gone again. So much for hardball negotiations. We sincerely doubted the notion of a manager being in this store to make the call anyway. We sincerely doubted the notion of a manager existing at all. In fact, the only real possibility was a rogue vagabond hoarding gasoline in the warehouse and polishing his sawed-off shotgun in preparation for a potential rebel raid, but I digress.

We move on.

It seemed for moment that we were out of luck until we rounded the bend. Another set that struck our fancy. Poking, prodding, drawer-bottom slapping and crib-frame shaking resulted in a potential match. Same price. Here we go again. At this point we weren't sure it was even worth the attempt, but we're here and we're armed with a coupon. Bring it on.

"Oh miss? Miss?" She wasn't nearby this time. We trudge warily back to the baby registration desk. She's training an underling. Our brains exploded at the thought that this woman wasn't at the bottom of the totem-pole. We seriously had to re-evaluate everything we knew about, well, everything. From our 2 minute wait we quickly surmised that we wanted to deal with this new woman even less than the first. Repetition usually has effect on people's cerebral cortexes, but not this woman. Was she a woman? We carefully looked for some red blinking lights in the back of her head.

"Excuse me? We do have one more we like, can you check that, whatchacallit... price sheet?"

When in Rome.

"Okay which one do you want?" She grabbed the price sheet before she left, thus shaving 7 minutes off this next experience. There was hope -- people CAN change.

We stroll back to the new crib/dresser combo, inflated with a sense of hope. If only we knew how misplaced it was.

"Ah you like the Palisades model. It's one of our most popular! I think we're out of stock but let me look here in the price sheet..."

Why are we not surprised?

We watch as she writes the numbers down, consults her price sheet and subsequently heads back to the terminal for some sophisticated number checking. We look at each other and share that look. You know, "the look". That's right, something is happening here isn't it? Something that we're going to tell our children and our children's children. Something epic is right around the corner.

5 minutes go by. We start browsing the shelves. Maybe we can dual-purpose this trip and let it not be in vain. 10 minutes. It was becoming unwise to remain in such an environment for much longer, lest we tempt fate.

We head back towards the desk. Just an aisle or two over we can hear voices. I tense up, preparing for the attack.

"When you stock this area make sure to look at the section you're in and check the price sheet to make sure it goes there..."

There they are. Training is occurring again and it's a sight to behold. The efficiency of this place is bordering on the Six Sigma.

I clear my throat. "Uh, excuse me?"

Our champion of inventory and customer service turns around and takes a few steps in our direction. She opens her mouth to say something we will never forget. A moment so priceless it cannot be described with just words, but I'll try to do it justice.

Wait for it...

"Yes? Can I help you?"

A sunburst so bright we were temporarily blind detonated like the Death Star in the night. Our brains short circuited and reason went out the window. Time stopped. Hummingbirds wings were frozen in time, and somewhere, yes somewhere, a home-owner's insurance commercial had some poor bloke suspended in air with a hot dog in hand and some ethnic minority about to teach us a lesson. Yes, it was the time between times, and she said just what you read. She sincerely and honestly just met us for the first time. Again.

*Cricket*

*Cricket*

"Uh, yes. You can. You were checking on the Palisades crib for us, you know, if there were any in stock?"

Realization hit her face like a freight train. Expletives hit the air like a bucket of cold water on a sleeping drunk. Her hands slapped over her mouth as quick as her eyes had sprung open wide and she fell apart in embarrassment. We looked around to see if anyone else was appreciating this moment as much as us. Nope. This moment was ours to enjoy. Ours to savor for eternity.

"I'm soo sorry! Oh my.. I.. I totally forgot!"

I blinked. No analogy or simile can do an event like this one justice, so I leave magnitude of the situation up to you to determine.

It's at this point in the story where a few of you may start losing focus. You think the best has come and gone and the wrap-up will trail gracefully into a soft ending. Well you're wrong. Wake up and pay attention, because the goomba and her goomblette don't disappoint. Well, by disappointing in new ways do you find a new way for them to NOT disappoint. Victory in failure, one might say.

So back to the scene. Desolate wasteland of a department store manned by a very small handful of automatons (or possibly passive zombies with partial intelligence. The movies could have it wrong you know.) manning the helm. Shock and awe at the caliber of customer service. Awkward and Epic moment in time. And go.

A flurry of activity spewed into existence. Tweedledum initiated what appeared be instructions into the air. We assumed they were meant for Tweedledee, not because she followed them, but because there was no one else there. A few attempts later and Tweedledee looked up, taking her finger out of her nose. It's time for them to show the world why they make the big bucks. It was fumble with the computer time.

"Just right-click there and click on print. No, right-click. The right one. Not the one you're clicking... the OTHER one. No, the other one."

We moseyed over to some nearby gliding chairs and sat down to enjoy the show. What ensued was a complete three-act play of insanity. Act I began with an introduction to their lack of knowledge, communication and computer skills. Act II presented itself in classic Shakespearean fashion: our main characters encountered an obstacle (the computer) that prevented them from achieving their dramatic need (checking inventory). They reached a low point.

Act III was the climax. After much struggle and tribulation, Tweedledum sent her counterpart down to the mysterious and arguably tangible warehouse. We sat and waited. Watched and giggled. We were honestly enjoying ourselves immensely at this point, no longer on edge or looking for attackers. We were fascinated that both people and a store could function like this.

The one problem with Act III was that it didn't appear to have an end. Hours went by and no one came back. We quietly and carefully left. We thought about calling the police and putting in a missing person alert, but ultimately decided against it. There was little to no chance any one in this place was in fact, human.