I cycled down to Harvard Square this morning to pick up some office supplies. I've been going to the Staples there for, um, staples. And stickies, and reams of printer paper, and packs of bubble mailers for posting books and such.  oneBut this morning when I got to Staples they were all out of staples. I'm not kidding. I mean, I knew the name Staples wasn't strictly literal, but had always thought that it was not just a clever play on the word.

So I found a clerk, who was none too happy to assist me, but not outright hostile. There's definitely a Zen to walking that fine line, and she was a Wu Li Master. And I've seen my share of wannabes, so I should know. I mean, I get this reaction a lot in Big-Boxland—Circuit City and Best Buy you get the Evil Eye. Bed, Bath and Beyond, the wary growl. Homo Depot, the disappearing act.

I like to think it's them, of course, but I'll allow that it could be me. I never rule that out. I have this funny little hat with the ear-flaps I wear in the winter. It's a very low-key affair, and very practical, but I could see how it could instantly annoy some people, who might think to themselves, "Oh, he's one of those." You know, one of those people who wear those funny little hats with the ear-flaps. And those people can be annoying, I'll admit.

Anyway, the thing you have to know about big box employees is that it doesn't matter what the product is, they are trained to be armed with a multi-tiered standardized response to any request for it.

They start by just restating the obvious. This is called a Code Blue in Big Boxology texts. And it looks like this:

CUSTOMER IN ANNOYING HAT WITH EAR-FLAPS: Do you have any more staples? I see you're out.

BIG BOX CLERK: Um, yeah, looks like we're out.

CIAHWEF: All out, huh?

BBC: Yep. Sure looks it.

Protocol is to confirm but offer no further information or assistance, in the hope that the CIAHWEF will fuck off back to wherever he came from.

Should the CIAHWEF not do so, a Code Yellow is called.

CIAHWEF: (looking around in mock-bewilderment) Am I not at Staples?

BBC: Um, yeah.

CIAHWEF: And you don't have staples?

BBC: It would seem so.

CIAHWEF: At Staples.

BBC: (pointing to little "out of stock" sticker) Yeah, looks like that item is out of stock. That's what the sticker says.

CIAHWEF: Do you believe everything the sticker says? If the sticker said "go jump in the Charles" would you?

BBC: Um, no, probably not.

CIAHWEF: Do you have one of those Easy Buttons?

BBC: Not on me.

CIAHWEF: Well, looks like you need to find one and start popping it. Because I peddled all the way here from Davis Square in 31° weather, and I'm not leaving Staples without my frakin staples. Dig?

If the CIAHWEF escalates in this manner, the BBC is to point to another product nearby and suggest buying that one instead.

BBC: Wouldn't you rather have a box of overhead transparencies?

CIAHWEF: Um, no. I need staples. That's why I came to Staples. For staples.

At this point, Code Orange kicks in.

BBC: I could call around to other stores.

CIAHWEF: You think they might have staples at the Stoughton Staples? Or am I going to have to go to New Hampshire or Vermont for them?

Code Red! At this point the BBC breaks out his Fuck-off Button.

BBC: (pressing Fuck-off Button) Sometimes that item has to be special-ordered. We usually receive special-ordered items in six to eight weeks.

CIAHWEF: Are you kidding me?

BBC: (pressing Fuck-off Button) No.

CIAHWEF: Is this Soviet Russia circa 1978?

BBC: (pressing Fuck-off Button) Yes. No. Whatever.

CIAHWEF: Since when do you have to wait six to eight weeks for staples? They're all over the place! People are stapling things all the time! There are infinite numbers of staples everywhere!

BBC continues pressing Fuck-off Button, alarms sound.

Anyway, the final purpose was achieved. I left. It is a measure of the degree to which the Big Boxes have reprogrammed consumers that I left thinking, where's the nearest OfficeMax?

I still needed my office goods, particularly my bubble mailers, which I decided not to purchase at a Staples that did not stock staples. On principle. I moped on down Mass Ave., and found myself standing on the sidewalk outside of Bob Slate, Stationer, where I sometimes go for my more extravagant stationery wants—my little Moleskine pads,and various and sundry other fancy-schmancyana.

I was skeptical they would have anything really useful, like bubble mailers, but I ventured in anyway, and lo and behold, way back in a tiny back corner dedicated to practical matters, there they were, in various shapes and sizes!

Let me just say, first of all, a pack of a dozen 8.5X11 bubble mailers runs me around eleven bucks with tax at Staples. That comes to about ninety cents per mailer, whereas they're a buck-fifty or something in singles there, and over two bucks each at places like CVS, which is, of course, a destination of last resort.

The 8.5X10 bubble mailers at Bob Slate were fifty cents each, and something like $5.25 per dozen. I was flabbergasted. I had always just assumed the Big Box stores had better deals on that kind of stuff. But here they were, less than half the price than at the Big Box down the street. And it wasn't some big pomp and circumstance sale item, either.

I could hardly hold in my glee. I was leaping up and down like I'd won the lottery, turning cartwheels, giggling uncontrollably, grabbing up bubble mailers by the dozen.

There was an older gentleman behind the counter in the back of the store, and I shouted over to him, "this is a great price on these bubble mailers!"

He tried to ignore me. Finally he glared at me from over his bifocals.

"Well, of course," he said.

"They're half what you pay down at Staples!" I screamed in ecstasy.

He shuddered at the mention of "Staples," glared at me again from over his bifocals, arched an eyebrow, and said nothing.

I took my treasure to the front counter to pay. There were two young men at the register, student-types. I tried to hold back my rapture at the 1950 prices on the bubble mailers, but couldn't.

"This is the best price ever on bubble mailers!" I blurted for the whole store to hear. "I thought you'd have higher prices than Staples!"

They, too, shuddered at the mention of "Staples," and gave me the same look the guy in the back had.

"Well," one of them said calmly, "you were right to think that."

"Almost everything in our shop you can't find anywhere else," the other one said, schooling me.

I had the sense that in mentioning Staples I had made a major faux pas, and that in pointing out their excellent prices on Bubble mailers I had exposed myself as a pathetic prole for whom a few pennies is actually a factor. They were clearly embarrassed for me — like missionaries looking upon a savage: half-pity, half-disdain in their eyes. He doesn't even know he's naked, their eyes were saying. Except for that stupid hat with the ear flaps, that is.

I was on a roll, though, and couldn't stop myself.

"And I'm going right next door when I leave here to redeem a coupon at Qdoba for a free burrito!" I ululated. "This is the best day ever!"

They smiled and nodded, clearly horrified.

"But I'll be back!" I assured them.

"We'll be closed," they assured me.

I should have kept my big mouth shut, though. They probably went right back to the bubble mailers and jacked up the price to triple what it was. Keep the riff-raff out.

I'm sure they've got one of those Fuck-off buttons, too. It's just hidden under the counter.