I find it really funny that the local CVS is adamantly denying that they sold Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pretty much all day Friday in complete disregard (or ignorance*) of the directive, and then, when word got out on Friday morning, had the gall to declare, most indignantly, in a newspaper article that day that the rumors were absolutely untrue and that they did indeed abide by the rules, completely.

Oh, local CVS, give it up. I was there. So was my friend Cathy. We were BOTH told by the clerk that “someone opened the box this morning and we’ve been selling the books all day, and now we’re out.” Besides, all the people who bought their book in the middle of the afternoon know the truth, too.

Bad move, Bedford, Indiana CVS. Just admit it and take the consequences from Scholastic.

As for the Bloomington, Indiana CVS that only ordered six copies of the book and sold all but one of them to a gaggle of giggly teens who came running in at the stroke of midnight and pretty much said “tough beans” to the people who had been waiting for an hour or more for the clock to strike 12:01. . . . you suck.

Bad PR moves, CVS. Bad marketing. Bad customer relations. Bad CVS. Bad choice of employees. Bad policies. Bad handling of the truth. Bad bosses.

Especially, bad bosses.

Note to the young woman at the Bedford CVS who had the balls to tell Cathy and me the truth: You rock. That had to be humiliating, and you could have tried to cover it up like your bosses did the next morning, but you chose to tell us the truth and I appreciate that. I hope you still have your job; people who tell the truth often pay severe consequences for it, especially when the big bosses decide that lies are better for the corporate image. Note to the bosses: wrong.

*Ignorance is the worst of all possible excuses for anything.

Once I learned that Amazon wasn’t going to deliver my Deathly Hallows book until Monday, I knew I had to buy one off the shelf at midnight. There was no way I would fight the crowd at WalMart, so I decided to buy the book at CVS, because at my age I practically live at the pharmacy anyway. The handful of coupons I had from CVS would have meant Deathly Hallows for about six bucks, in fact.

I got to the pharmacy at around 11:20, wrote a check for a million dollars for legitimate drugs, and sat down to wait for 12:01, the magic hour when all things shall become known. The store was deserted except for me and my friend Cathy, whom I hadn’t seen for a long time and with whom I offered to share my coupons. We sat there together on the Old People chairs in the prescription section and chatted about our kids and how cool we were not to be at WalMart waiting in a long line.

At 11:45, a very embarrassed clerk came up to us and confessed that CVS had been selling the books ALL DAY and they were gone. We’d been waiting for naught.

I was upset, sure, but not as upset as the CVS manager was going to be when Scholastic found out what the store had done.

Cathy and I looked at each other and sighed. What other book-selling business in this town was open at this hour, besides WalMart? It’s not as if we had a real bookstore anywhere close by, more’s the pity.

The grocery store.

So we met at Fudz Plus where there was a large table heaped high with Deathly Hallows, covered and sealed tightly with transparent plastic. The mound of books was guarded by a very nice clerk who was counting down and reporting every two or three minutes, and at the stroke of 12:01 she tore off the plastic and stepped back. Most people were at WalMart being trampled, so the dozen or so of us at the grocery store made our purchases within two or three minutes, grabbed some bread and a sack of potatoes, and went home. I set up shop at the kitchen table (I do not read on cushions; I prefer a straight wooden chair. Yes, I know I’m a freak. ) with popcorn, leftover potato salad, about eight cans of Diet Coke, informed the universe that I was not to be disturbed, and began. I did not stop reading until I finished.

Later today we’ll be driving about two hundred miles north, where we’ll meet Hub’s family for dinner (it’s the half-way point for all of us) and where I’ll hand the book over to my three beautiful occasionally-borrowed Michigan children who are champing at the bit* to get their hands on a copy.

We take our Harry Potter very seriously. Very seriously indeed.

*Yes, it’s “champing at the bit,” NOT “chomping at the bit.” I take my idioms very seriously, too.

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly