The only thing GameStop doesn’t fail at

…is failing.

So I’ve got an upcoming trip to the east coast. I don’t know how I keep ending up going back to Northern Virginia every summer, when one of the main reasons I moved away from the area was to get away from Northern Virginia summers. But I do not argue.

Since this is the first of five trips of 2,000 or more miles in the next five months, I decided to swing by GameStop to see if they had any DS games for the trip. Specifically, I’ve heard good things about Dragon Quest V and Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor. So after picking up my fiancée’s shoes from the shoe repair shop, I paid a visit to our local overpriced mall.

Dragon Quest V.  Wait, IV.  Whatd I say?

Dragon Quest V. Wait, IV. What'd I say?

I didn’t see either of the games on the wall at GameStop, so I figured I’d ask the clerk — who had just finished extolling the virtues of how awesome it is to save $2 by purchasing the used version of a game, then sell it back the next day and buy something else. Used, of course.

As of this writing, I have never lost my cool and yelled at employees who suggest this — after all, they probably have no idea that neither developers nor publishers make any money off used game sales. But it’s still pretty frustrating.

Anyway, I successfully talked the customer out of Lost: Via Domus and into Fallout 3, and proceeded to inquire about the availability of my two targets.

First of all, Devil Survivor was sold out. The closest copy? 20 minutes south in Burien. Strike one.

However, they did have a copy of Dragon Quest. So the employee took his unfortunate blond dye job to the back to grab it for me. He comes back, box in hand, and proceeds to ring me up. I swipe my card and am about to sign when I notice that he’s grabbed a copy of Dragon Quest IV, and not V. Strike two.

I point out that he’s brought me the wrong game, at which point he mumbles something about not being able to read properly, and some other such nonsense. He then tells me to sign for the purchase anyway. Uh, no, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. Strike three.

He continues to cancel the transaction, but not before turning the signature capture device around, taking the little pen, scribbling a fake signature, and hitting “Accept”. Strike four, five, six, and seven.

I mean, sure, retail is hard. Maybe it’s easier to to a refund of something that someone’s actually signed for. But you don’t just do that, right? Or is my inner old man showing?

So I assume I’ll have a refund on my statement the next time I look. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll have one more reason to hate GameStop on Monday morning.

Oh, and they didn’t have Dragon Quest V, either. Apparently it’s been discontinued. Helloooooooo, Amazon.

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