An unpleasant retail experience is enough to ruin a girl’s evening. I left Best Buy the other night talking to myself, upset at the foolishness of retailers like this one not getting the basic tenets of customer service in this day and age.
I won’t pollute the blogosphere with the details, but the gist is that Best Buy didn’t feel the need to synch its online channel with their in-store experience – or maybe they did – both were terrible. Wake up and smell the economy, boys!
I hopped on the subway with a scowl.
Tall enough to clear the storm cloud above my head, stood a man of style.
Inventory: Black and white, just faded enough Chucks; not-too-skinny, thankfully unfaded black jeans – great fit; gunmetal military jacket; gunmetal eye frames;  black and white print backpack (I’ll forgive the backpack for the print and overall confidence here), topped with a black newsboy cap – like the proverbial cherry on the sundae.
I want a sundae kind of love, to paraphrase my dear friend Etta.
Reached Yorkville with no recall of retail rant. Fresh Vogue India just arrived from distant climes at Maison de la Presse. Those guys get customer service. Merci.
Swung by the George Corbo boutique. Lingered by the lovely store window (it was after 6 so the window would have to do). Gawk along with me…
Printed tunic for Spring, a print fashion pub in hand, a prince on public transit. Saved by style, yet again.
