My Nook Glowlight died the other day. I plugged it in, only to receive the message that my battery was dead, and it remained dead a full twelve hours later. So, I determined it was time to buy a new nook.
“You can’t read on any of your other devices?” my husband gently inquired.
“No,” I said. “I can’t.”
When I looked at the Barnes and Noble site I saw that their new and improved GlowLight Plus was almost $200.00. Their GlowLight 3 was $119.00. And, their Nook Tablet 7” was $49.99. That seemed the best option, as I seem to go through my devices like mints.
I bought the tablet at 1:00 p.m., as we have a Barnes and Noble within walking distance of our house, and had it plugged in by 1:30. Surely, I could have it set up by the time I needed to start dinner.
After it sufficiently charged, I attempted to log in to my wi-fi. I kept getting a message that there was a password error, and after many, many attempts I was told I was locked out. So, I called Nook Support, and was told by a person in a faraway land that clearly, the problem was with my service provider, and my memory, not Nook. But, since I had never registered my Nook, it was not possible for her to help me. I should contact Wowway, she said. Or, with whomever I held our internet agreement.
Thanking her for her no help whatsoever, I made dinner, and informed my husband of the situation. “It will be 24 hours before you can try again,” he said. “They lock a device for your protection, in case it gets stolen.”
Surely, I thought to myself, somebody at the physical store will be able to help me. So, I found myself standing once again before the counter at which I’d purchased my Nook seven hours earlier. The appropriate manager was called, and when he came he immediately began punching buttons.
“Hmmmmm,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Well, you get what you pay for.”
(My mother, upon hearing this story, suggested I mention to him that I was getting nothing, for which I had paid $49.99.)
After multiple attempts without success, he said he would replace this tablet with a new one, and went back to get a second device. He began filling in the paperwork for a return, or exchange, and I went back to standing there waiting, when he suddenly shoved the box under my nose.
“Demo,” it read, on the end of the box. I had been trying to get a Demo model to accept my password for almost an entire day.
Now, I’m curious. Is it my fault for not reading the end of the box? Is it the person in Asia’s fault who insisted I didn’t know the password to my own internet? Is it the clerk’s fault at Barnes and Noble who sold me the Demo in the first place? Is it the fault of all the thieves who made locking one’s device a necessity? All I know is that I should have followed my husband’s suggestion in the first place and used one of my other devices.
Like a book.