When I went to CompUSA in Henrietta, New York on
Tuesday night (26 Nov. 1997), with in hand the crowded
two-almost-full-page Democrat & Chronicle advertisement
(pages 8a/9a, 26 Nov. 1997) to pick up:
   ... the advertised Maxtor 2.1G hard drive for $129.99
(with a $30 manufacturer mail-in rebate for a final
effective price of $99.99, exclusive of the sales tax
of $10.40 and the nominal $0.45 cost of the photocopies
of and the postage for the rebate documentation mailing);
   ... and the advertised 16M EDO 4x32 SIMM for $59.99
(with a $59.99 manufacturer mail-in rebate for a final
effective price of $0.00, exclusive of the sales tax of
$4.80 and the nominal $0.45 cost of the photocopies of
and the postage for the rebate documentation mailing);
   ... and the advertised Best Data V.34 33.6 Fax Modem for
$39.99 (with a $20 manufacturer mail-in rebate for a final
effective price of $19.99, exclusive of the sales tax of
$1.60 and the nominal $0.45 cost of the photocopies of and
the postage for the rebate documentation mailing);
   ... and the advertised Inoculan AntiVirus 5.0 for Windows
for $9.99 (actual marked price) (with a $10 manufacturer
mail-in rebate for a final effective price of -$0.01,
exclusive of the sales tax of $0.80 and the nominal $0.45
cost of the photocopies of and the postage for the rebate
documentation mailing),
   ... the salesman behind the counter where were located
the SIMMs and hard drives, curtly said that they were all
out of both the hard drives and the SIMMs. This sort of
behavior is typical of CompUSA, of course -- purposely
stocking minimal quantities of the most attractive items,
especially those with deep discounts or large rebates.
   When I went to the service desk to either request a
raincheck or to place a prepaid order, the hostile drones
behind the desk (as usual) simply refused to issue rainchecks
*or* to accept a prepaid order. When I pointed out that the
ad did *not* say "limited quantities", the annoying little
pest that usually seems to get in my face (short, black,
dumpy, with a superficially pleasant manner), attempted to
screw with my head (as usual) with a colossal load. The
load this time, in effect, was that the ultra-subatomic
fine print at the bottom of the second page of the
advertisement was the "limited quantity clause" ("NOTE:
All products subject to price changes and availability.
We reserve the right to limit quantities.").
   Thus, a statement that CompUSA won't sell its whole
shipload of some loss leader or another to a clever and
enterprising dealer, is transformed into "if we run out
of purposely limited quantities real fast, you're screwed";
and a general statement that CompUSA hates to be held to
its advertisements, is transformed into "screw you, you
annoying customer -- get lost".
   I said that the law in New York State *requires* that
rain checks be issued for advertised items that are not
clearly and explicitly labelled "limited quantities".
   [Advertisers are *NOT* allowed to gain the additional
benefit from "non-limited-quantities" advertised items,
of greatly increased customer traffic, and presumably of
increased exposure to customer eyeballs, *AND* to then
whip right around *AFTER* a great many customers have
traveled, often a long way, *specifically* for *those*
advertised and presumably available items, and snottily
refuse to issue rain checks or accept pre-paid orders.
If advertisers want to claim limited quantities, they'll
damn well have to *say* so up *front* in a honest and
non-deceptive manner, in the *advertisement*. Anything
else is fraud and theft of the time and travel expenses
of customers who travel to CompUSA specifically because
of those advertised items].
   Speaking now to another man nearby who was watching all
this, and who broke in to ask about another item listed
in the advertisement, I said, "You can buy the item at
another store, and then take CompUSA to small claims court
for the difference between what you paid and what you should
have paid after the [advertised] sale price and [advertised]
rebate [(that last assuming that the rebate was specific to
CompUSA)]."
   I then asked the annoying pest, point-blank, whether or
not CompUSA was flatly refusing to issue rain checks, the
annoying pest (I'm thinking of a much stronger term than
that) tried to screw with my head real bad by claiming that
CompUSA was not, in fact, doing exactly what it *was* doing
-- refusing to issue any rainchecks, by claiming that this
was "policy".
   (Verminous mind rapists like that ought to be shot).
   When I said then, in brief, "That "policy" *is* a [flat]
refusal to issue rainchecks or to accept prepaid orders,"
and remarked, "That's all I need to know," and turned to go,
suddenly the vermino-- annoying little pest, changed its mind,
and asked what I wanted from them.
   Geesh. "Rain check or prepaid order." They chose prepaid
order. I think my current, pending small claims court claim
against CompUSA for a long-unpaid rebate (one of more than
twenty in total, all by Mouse Systems and CompUSA/Computer
City, for various products over a period of nine months),
has gotten their attention.
   Perhaps also the copies of the summons and complaint,
and the copies of the letter I sent to the CEO/President
of CompUSA bluntly informing him that I was suing CompUSA
and that Mouse Systems was *not* paying any its rebates,
that I sent to the Attorney General in Rochester, New York,
to the Postmaster General in D.C., and to the Federal Trade
Commission in D.C., have by now gotten back to the brass (I
*did* get a certified letter from the national customer
service manager asking as nice as pie what he could do),
and they know I'm not going to rest until I have the taste
of human flesh in my slavering jaws, and that I'm likely
to rapidly develop a taste for that meaty flavor.
--- QScan/PCB v1.17b / 01-0406
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