Party City

Party City hits me as the kind of place Bill and Ted would visit. You know, the folks with the Excellent Adventure, followed by the Bogus Adventure. Wasn't Keanu Reeves in the movie? He couldn't act back then. Still can't.

Maybe Party City is where the "420" people go. Okay, am I the only one who thinks that calling it 420 is dumb. First, everyone knows what you are talking about. Its not a secret or a code or anything. Second, just say the word - pot. There, that wasn't so hard. In fact, its shorter which is a good thing for you potheads who sometimes have trouble putting together multiple syllables.

Anyway, Party City is also a place in my town that sells party supplies. We had a little baby shower on Saturday. It was done nicely by my wife's friend. Well, I have been told. I didn't attend the shower. But, that's another story. So, I offered to order the balloons and pick them up. We needed 24 pink balloons. Not that hard. Pink balloons and pink strings. How hard can this be?

So, I call Party City but they don't take orders over the phone or over the internet. Are they stuck in the 1990s? Seriously. No internet orders? No phone orders? For balloon. Sheesh!

I drive over there and I am in line behind two guys who look to be 18 or so. One guy has on a white t-shirt, a silver vest and a matching silver driver's hat. They wanted to order a balloon, apparently for some girl. So, the conversation goes like this, and I swear I am not making it up:

Guy 1: I want the hot dog.
Guy 2: The hot dog?
Guy 1: Yes, I want the hot dog.
Guy 2: Why do you want the hot dog?
Guy 1: I like the hot dog.

(Notice the lack of the word balloon in the conversation. Dude apparently wanted the hot dog. What is the hot dog? Don't even go there. I already did and it was funny. But it goes on:)

Employee: We don't have the hot dog balloon.
Guy 1: Oh. What do you have?
Employee: Almost anything else. What's the occasion?
Guy 1: I want to impress a girl. And I know the way to a girl's heart.

(Really? A girl's heart? Dude, you want us to believe that. He hasn't met a girl's heart he was wanted in his life. Nor will he. There is nothing wrong with that, but just be honest about it.)

Employee: How about something else?
Guy 1: How about the tank?
Employee: The tank?
Guy 1: She will like it.
Guy 2: Really, the tank?
Guy 1: Oh yeah. She will think its sweet.

(Sweet. A tank? Are you high? A tank might be sweet for a woman in the US Army where she can be all that she can be, but to an 18 year old girl I don't think its sweet. But that's just me.)

So, finally its my turn. I go up and ask for 24 pink latex balloons. The girl tells me I need to get the balloons out of the little containers under the counter. Of course, the containers are labeled, but people mix them up. So there is pink and red and peach and some with a design on them. But, being smart like that, I could find the pink ones and count them out. 1, 2, 3, 4.................. You get the idea.

I put the balloons on the counter and give them to the girl. She looks for an order form. She can't find one. She asks someone else for an order form. That person doesn't have them either. Really, how hard is this? Its an order form! So, she decides to write it down on a little notepad piece of paper.

She asks for my name, address, phone number and pick up time. Easy enough, right? This should have been my first sign that I went to Party Ghetto and not Party City. She puts all 24 balloons in a ziploc bag. No, not a bag that zips closed, but the bag actually said ZIPLOC on it. She then takes the little notepad paper and puts it IN THE ZIPLOC BAG! This does not inspire confidence.

Then it gets worse. She takes said ziploc bag and hands it to me. She tells me to walk down to the cash register to pay. At this point, I have no faith in their ability to blow..............up my balloons. I walk down to the cash register and the girls takes the baggie. (No, not the dime baggie, the 2.4 dime baggie.) She then proceeds to enter all of my information into the computer.

Now, I don't want to tell anyone how to run their company, but if you are going to take my information, write it down and then have someone enter it into a computer, I can suggest a way to streamline the process. How about you give me the little bag of stuff and I walk it down to the cash register and just tell that girl my information? Wouldn't that be easier and not require the use of a little note pad? Now, maybe I am wrong, but I am pretty sure this would be easier.

Of course, what do they do at this point? They take my money. Not a problem. They print out a receipt for me. They print out a receipt for them and they put it in the little baggie. The receipt with all of my information. The information that I told them so they could write down so they could then enter into a computer and throw away the piece of paper only to print it out on a 2nd piece of paper and put it back in the baggie. Really, could you make this more complicated? I think I can. How about this:

I write down the information on a piece of paper and hand it to you so that you can copy it onto an order form, then give me the order form to have me read it to the cashier, who can then enter it into the computer, print out a piece of paper to have me verify it, throw that paper away, print out a receipt and put it in the bag.

Otherwise, they have the most complicated program I have seen. Seriously, is this place run by Darrell Steinberg and Karen Bass. The legislature could make this process harder, but that's about it.

So, as I leave the store, I am worried. Who wouldn't be? I need these balloons at 10am the next morning. 9am comes and guess what? "Mr. Stein, this is Partay Citay and we aren't sure what balloons you ordered. Could you tell us what your order is?" "Um, 24 pink balloons with pink strings."

Seriously, this place needs a makeover. You know, like Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Let's call it Extreme Makeover: Business Edition. In our premier episode, Party City is imploded and not rebuilt. Just end it. Now. Please.