The Sony Store we arrive at next thrums with the insistent energy of a stadium concert. To enter this electronics emporium amid such a crush of customers while seeking such basic knowledge (I want to buy a laptop and be able to get online from any room in my house) is folly from the get-go. But trial by fire is the hottest to watch, so what the hell.
We’re ignored for too long, then finally acknowledged by a peppy salesperson who descends on us suddenly, clearly keen to wrap up this sale so he can move on to the next. Our sleepy questions about how stuff works and why one laptop costs $2,800 and another $1,500 (“One’s more of a James Bond model,” is all he can come up with) don’t jibe with his buzzing energy level, and he makes no effort to adapt to our low-key manner. He talks to my “husband” more than to me, despite our having told him that this would be my purchase. And when I respond to his directive to create a “hot spot” in my house by saying that I would set it up close to the furnace, he officially gives up on us. He’s bored with having to walk us through the nuts and bolts, and has lost sight, apparently, of the potential sale. He backs away and never returns.
Eventually, another salesperson steps in and offers details on a few models. Curiously, he urges us away from a funky-looking PDA/laptop combo. “Don’t buy this,” he volunteers. “It’s got too many bugs. You’ll be throwing it against the wall in a day.”
In the end, we buy nothing at all.