Revenge Shopping: How a Broken Headset Nearly Ruined Me

I only had the things for four months before they crapped out.

Then, the damned replacement only lasted ten months after that! Sounds petty maybe, but it hits different when you're already on the ground. The breakup. The silence. The fact that the one thing helping me shut out the noise shit the bed twice? That hurts.

So then the asshole at the shop says I’m shit out of luck, ‘cause the original one year warranty is past—even though we’ve gone through two units! What the fuck? And why are they standing behind such pieces of shit anyway, right?

Fuck them.

I’d leave a bad review, but that wouldn’t make any difference.

The thing about shitty products is, you never know if you can rely on the reviews either, because these companies spend beaucoup dollars keeping up appearances, and who the fuck knows if that means greasing the reviewers from time to time. Fuck, for all we know it could be their own employees writing the shit, although with the ‘guaranteed purchase’ verification and all it’d have to be a pretty shady operation to go that far. That’s borderline fraud right there. But still, there are other ways. Paid shills. Kickbacks for nice words. You know.

So anyway, there you have it. I’m out a pair of headphones and I haven’t got the cash for another, so I’m just going to have to suffer.

Or maybe I’ll go shoplift a pair.

That’s an option. Not a real good one though, what with the way they’ve got the anti-theft shit set up these days. And that’s another thing. The companies ought to invest a little more in un-shittifying their merchandise, and a little less worrying about protecting against ‘lifters snatching up their little pieces of shit. Am I right?

I probably won’t risk it, at any rate. Which means I’m going silent for a while, and that sucks. I do way too much thinking in silence. For some that’s a good thing, I suppose. Not for me. I’m better off drowning out my brain with white noise, the louder the better.

Silence is like death to me. The death of the comfortable, or something. I think maybe that’s exactly how you feel the second you die. Like all the silence in the world is crashing in on you. Deafening. Crushing. Endless quiet.

Fuck that. I want the noise.

I didn’t used to mind so much. Not when I was younger. I’d sit by the lake or a tree or whatever. Not totally silent, though. Always water sounds. Nature sounds. Something. It’s never a hundred percent quiet. Some machine noise or traffic or planes are always out there, heard even if unseen. You just tune it out. I’m just more about tuning everything out, that’s all. Besides, when I was younger I didn’t fear my thoughts so much.

But now I do.

Fuck it, I’m lifting one. It’s not that big of a risk, if I’m careful. And it’s karmic, too, so it’s not like the universe’ll be looking to punish me for it. I’ll be stealing from the ones who fucked me over, and that’s fair, isn’t it? I’d say so, yeah. And while I’m at it, I’ll add to their pain a little more. You know, like Trump says—always get even. And then some.

So who says I’ve got to stick to the pair they screwed me over? Hell, they’ve got *way* higher end shit I could go for. Thousand dollar products, not these pieces of shit that are liable to crap out on my ass, just like the last two.

Fuck it, I’m going for broke. And while I’m at it, I might as well get some more shit I’ve always wanted. In for a penny, right?

What else do I need?

A couple portable batteries, maybe. Some high capacity flash storage. I’d say a tablet computer, too, but they keep *that* shit locked up. I’m surprised they don’t do the same with earphones, too, but aside from placement it shouldn’t be that hard to lift a pair. Or three.

I’ve got friends don’t I? And they’d like a nice pair, too, I’d imagine. Why not lift a whole set of ‘em, get everyone hooked up while I’m at it. Now *that’s* karma, y’ask me. Bigtime. Just thinking about it’s giving me a semi.

And it’s been a while since I felt any blood moving. It’s starting to feel like something’s finally going right. Like the scales of justice are tipping in my direction, you know? Instead of landing on my skull.

I snap to my senses. I’m getting ahead of myself. First off, I can’t carry all that much at once. Secondly, I want to make sure and get what I’m entitled to first, so even if it means risking two trips, I’m not taking any chances. Get the ones they owe me first, same ones or similar ones. Something to make up for my pain and suffering. After that, I’ll think about the rest.

*

I walk the store fence twice, getting a read on where the doors and cameras are, and which direction I should bolt if things go bad. If the shit hits the fan inside, I can handle it with the fear factor, but once I’m out I need to disappear fast. There’s no way I’m going to get surrounded by LEOs and shoot my way out. Death by cop isn’t the plan here.

I walk hoodie up, hands in pockets. Not because I’m cold, but so I don’t get recorded before I even do anything. It hits me with a wave of anxiety that I’m making myself obvious already, but I need to see the place, don’t I?

Then I feel my phone in my pocket, and the stupidity just washes over. I could’ve hung back, like way back, and video recorded the whole damned place for later study. Why in the hell am I walking the fence where the recorders are?

Anyway, I’m halfway committed and already there, so I peer in. Through the glass, I see the ones I want. The ones they owe me. Same brand, same box. They didn’t even move the display since I went in there to bitch them out. Right near the door. Should be easy as fuck. I look for the clerk I know, but he’s not there. Looks like a tall skinny high school type, zits and a bored expression with the hunched shoulders. I’m guessing he’d look the other way, even if he halfway suspected me. The fuck does he care if the store gets ripped off, right?

Do it now. Get it over with.

My heart’s thudding like I just sprinted, even though my fence walk had been purposefully slow. My palms are wet. My jaw’s clenched tight enough for my teeth to start hurting.

I don’t even know what I’m waiting for. A sign? A distraction?

Maybe I just want my body to move without having to ask.

While I’m standing there, some guy walks out with a new pair in his hand, swinging the bag. He looks like someone who never had to worry. Like he already forgot the money’s gone, and wouldn’t give a fuck either way. Like he didn’t have to work for it. Like he was okay.

This shit was for him. Not me. These things are extras—I have practical shit to worry about.

This ain’t yours, a voice in my head says. It never was in the first place.

I press my hand to the glass—just for a second. Then I turn and walk away, faster than I wanted to.

Not now, I think. Maybe not ever. But God damn did I want to.

*

I go home and start taking care of things. I’ve got a lot to do. Coming off a nasty breakup, my place is in a state. She grabbed half on her way out, which I agreed to, but because I wasn’t home when she did it, she took the better half of everything. That’s another one I should seek out for some karmic revenge, but honest to God I really don’t even want to see her again. I just wanna not be where I’m at. Surrounded by old, broken shit.

Maybe it’s not all that stuff I want. Maybe I just want something to feel fair for once. Like the world didn’t get away with it this time. Like I matter. Maybe.