We switched to Sempiternity because Awesomely Terrific and Tremendous’ internet kept going out, but what we gained in reliability we lost in signal strength to our upstairs offices. The guy who installed our cable and network recommended the new Sempiternity Capsule, a Wi-Fi extender that is supposed to “help eliminate dead spots,” augmenting the pitch with buzzwords like “consistent,” “seamless,” “performance,” and “enhanced.” The Capsules are “optimized” to work with the Sempiternity Grand Portal, meaning you are SOL if you bought your own router to avoid the rapacious rental fee.

Amazon sells the Sempiternity Capsule for $189 each. Sempiternity sells one Capsule for $119 ($199 for two) but charges an outrageous fifteen bucks for “shipping and handling.” One might figure going to the local retail store would be quicker and easier.

And one would be wrong.

I walked in and there was barely three feet between the front door and the long desk planted like a TSA checkpoint, behind which was an employee (excuse me, “customer service representative). He instructed the man in front of me to move into the corner to my right, where another rep was dealing with a woman, then turned back to me.

“What can I help you with today?”
“I want to pick up a Capsule.”
“Ok, can I have your first name and first initial of your last name?”
“David. R.”
“Ok, David, have a seat and someone will be with your shortly.”

I spotted nine customer service desks occupied by only five representatives. (Eventually, two more reps showed up.) There was least a dozen more people trying (and failing) to maintain social distancing in the two seating areas (*cough* holding pens *cough*). The middle one had several leather chairs while the one near the back had two benches with no backs, sitting perpendicular to each other. A young man with a tablet mingled with the people lucky enough to score a chair, assuring them someone would eventually call their names.

I took a seat on an uncomfortable bench with no back, across from a Hispanic man and his son. A large TV was silently running an episode of the Chopped Star Power tournament with Dorothy Hamill and three people I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t identify where the crappy bass-heavy music was coming from. I assumed this was going to take a lot longer than I’d hope, so I started the stopwatch on my phone.

Like most media stores, this one was built more for showcasing merchandise than creature comfort and/or efficiency, and I noted a few problems:

• Sound bounces around in an open setup and the ambient background noise increase exponentially with each additional body.
• The customer service reps were calling out names in uniformly inefficient decibel levels.
• Many of the customers were old people with bad hearing and the aforementioned crappy music didn’t help.

As I looked around, I spotted the Capsules on shelves next to the TV. I grabbed one and returned to my seat, which was now occupied by a trio at the other end. Seriously, folks, there is no need to travel in packs during a pandemic, even if we are nearing the end.

No one responded to a few of the names called; I assumed they’d become frustrated with the wait and left. By now I’d been sitting there for twenty minutes, but I didn’t want to leave and have to start all over another day.

Finally, a very nice woman and one of the later arrivals called my name. I walked over to her station and put the Capsule on her desk.

“You want to return this?”
“No, I want to buy it.”

She started futzing with a tablet, even though there was a computer screen on the desk. She scanned the box’s barcode, then started muttering to herself. A few minutes later she asked a sweet young thing with two-inch fake fingernails for help. Then they both started muttering.

“I’ve been working here a long time, but they just switched to using tablets and we’re all trying to get used to them.”

Great.

After more muttering and futzing, she asked me for my credit card, swiped it through the port on the tablet and I thought we were done.

“Do you want a paper receipt, or have it emailed?”

“Email would be fine.” (I HATE paper receipts because of the clutter and the propensity for disappearing.

“What’s your email address?”
“It should be linked to my account.”
“Uh, we can’t get to it through our system.”
For fuck’s sake!

“Give me your tablet and I’ll type it in. It will be a lot faster than spelling it for you.” Some people don’t know what a curmudgeon is and those who do think I’ve misspelled it. No, I spell it that way because “curmudgeon” was already taken, presumably by a kindred spirit.

Thirty six minutes and twenty seconds later I was in my car heading home.

One activates the Capsule with the Sempiternity phone app. (I’m not sure what someone without a smart phone is supposed to do, since Sempiternity won’t send out a tech just to set it up.) The YouTube setup video says it’s supposed to be simple:

• Make sure the phone’s Bluetooth is on and searching.
• Plug in the Capsule and hold the phone within six inches.
• After the Capsule is recognized, wait up to five minutes for the system to bring it online.

So, went up to our second floor bedroom, plugged the Capsule in and waited.

Nothing happened.

Well, almost nothing. A tiny light in the Capsule turned blue, then green and started blinking. A circle of continuously changing hue ran around the “Connecting the First Capsule” graphic for 10 minutes before the light changed to blinking white and the app said, “Your Capsule is not online.” I tried again using an outlet in the hallway. Nothing.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and tried again. No dice. Finally, I plugged it in to an outlet in my family room about six feet from the Grand Portal.

Nope.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Our upstairs cable box kept turning itself off every ten minutes about an hour after the installation guy left back in November, prompting a visit to the Sempiternity store. I waited a couple of days for my patience to renew.

I thought arriving ten minutes before the store opened would avoid the crowd. Silly me. There was already a half-dozen people milling around in the cold, waiting for the door to unlock. I joined them rather than find myself even further back of the line.

The customer service dude took my name. I grabbed one of the more comfortable chairs this time and restarted the stopwatch, making a silent bet with myself on how long this would take.

Someone called “David?” after about ten minutes.

I walked over to the desk, Capsule in hand and said, “I want to return this. It doesn’t work and yes, I tried several times. I don’t want a replacement.”

“Ok, well, let me take care of that for you.”

He took the box and scanned the barcode with his tablet. Frowning, he tried again. He turned the box over in his hand, possibly looking for another barcode (which didn’t exist). He called one of the other customer service dudes and they huddle for a few minutes.

“Uh, I can’t do refunds with the tablet. I have to use that computer over there,” which was tied up with another customer.

Ah, the irony. Corporate sets everyone up with tablets that should do everything but can’t process refunds.

This time only took 20 minutes, minus eight for standing in line outside.

It should be intuitively obvious but remember customer service reps are just poor bastards trying to earn a living. Most of them are nice and try to be helpful, even when dealing with abusive assholes. Taking your frustrations out on them by yelling, screaming or indignantly asking to see the manager isn’t helpful. They aren’t responsible for long waits and uncomfortable seats. It’s likely none of the corporate types who design retail outlets have ever set foot inside of one, let alone as a customer. So be polite, say “thank you,” and count your blessings if you work for a company that truly gives a shit about their employees.

Afterword: I ordered a tp-link Wi-Fi 6 Range Extender from Amazon for $70. The instructions were simple:
1. Plug in the extender in an outlet near the router.
2. Download tp-link’s Tether app and create an account.
3. Tap + in the app to connect with the router. If wi-fi LED is solid blue, you’re good.
4. Plug the extender in at the desired location.
5. Enjoy your extender.

Graphics: © Can Stock Photo: sailorr (snail); tang90246 (Wi-Fi symbol).