Here I am, Big Box Electronics Retailer. You've crowded out the local competition, and so now I've found myself in your store.
I have money that I'd like to give you for a product that I could certainly live without, but which would give me hours of entertainment.
I've done the research. I know precisely which of these gizmos I want. I don't have any questions for you, I'm not interested in your warranty program, and I don't need a case, or a MicroSD card, or any variety of add-ons. I just want the thing that I came into your store for.
I can see it right there, behind the glass. I just need one of your Blue-Shirted employees with access to the Almighty Key to come over, pop-open the lock, and let me go on my merry.
You're incredibly busy for a Friday afternoon. I get that. But I'm seeing most of your action over at the White Glowing Hipster Counter. You know the one. Looks like Flynn's virtual apartment in Tron: Legacy? Designed by a recently deceased Captain of Industry/Mortal Touched By the Divine, who gets to sit next to Edison and Einstein in the afterlife, because he's apparently the closest thing we get to an Edison or an Einstein these days?
Anyway, I'm not here for that. It's all very nice, but I'm here for something else.
Did I mention I'm a techie? I'm the guy all my relatives go to when they don't want to pay your team to get rid of a computer virus, or show them where the 'On' switch is.
I'm really quite sorry about that, but the reason I bring it up is to let you know that I won't take but a few scant seconds of your employee's time when he comes over with the Almighty Key. I won't ask him if the thing can run Microsoft Word. I won't ask him if I can access Facebook on it. I won't ask him if it's capable of bringing down a US military drone. None of that. I'll be quick.
Wait! What's this? Eye contact?
"Excuse me... I know exactly what I want. I just need someone to open the case for me!"
"You'll have to get in queue. Over there. The lady with the tablet computer and the unfortunate scowl that matches yours."
Very well. A queue. I'm sure once she hears my heartrending story about not needing the thing that EVERYONE else in the store is here to purchase, I'll be able to bend the rules just a bit.
If this were a metaphor, one might be tempted to paint me as an uppity member of the 1% who thinks rules only apply to little people, but then, I'm also not here to purchase a $599 toy. Merely a $299 toy. Expensive apples and less expensive oranges.
My exposition has given me just enough time to saunter over to the woman with the tablet.
"Hi! Could I just get someone with a key to..."
"What's your name, sir?"
"Why, it's right here on my debit card, which I'd like to give to someone so I could..."
"Let me guess? You're here, just like everyone else, to purchase The Tablet of the Madison Avenue Design Gods? This doesn't make you unique or special."
"No. Unlike them, I actually DO Think Different. Sort of. And I'd like to purchase one of these Tablets of the Basement Dwelling Tech Nerds if it's all the same to you."
"It IS all the same to me. Thirty minute wait time. I'll grab you if I'm not already on break."
Now, Big Box Electronics Retailer, you've done something dangerous. You've left me alone with my thoughts, extra time to spend in your store, and a large amount of bitterness at being treated like a piece of cattle with a credit limit.
Soon, I find myself back at the display model of the item I wish to purchase. I'm playing with it. I'm noticing little glitches and design flaws that would aggravate me over time. I start thinking that maybe I could spend my money on better things, elsewhere.
It's at that point that I stop fondling the tech bauble I was about to purchase, so as to really soak in the scene around me. And I wonder to myself what sort of asshole would design a store that hires so few employees in a time of stifling unemployment, when demand is clearly high enough to warrant the ridiculous notion of an "in-store queue".
And then I leave your store, having gotten over my bout with consumerism, but not before delivering a message to your "loss prevention" guy babysitting the door:
"Pro-Tip: when I can't buy what I want at your store because you've got it behind lock-and-key, and then can't produce a key to facilitate the purchase, you're making it far too obvious that customer service takes a backseat to profit. Tell your manager he needs to hire more people, if he wants to see my business again."