I brought my loot home but the bits and pieces of it quickly vanished into the chaotic mess that is my six-year-old’s room—I never ended up visiting my revenge on Mark.
Radio Shack gave us the cables and scanners and phone lines (ahhh, dial-up!
I put the fart gun in my banker’s box and carried it home. “And what I want to do is record the noise onto a chip and attach it to a motion activated sensor that I tape under his desk.
That Saturday I went to Radio Shack and wandered vaguely around the store, fumbling with the little blister packs, trying to figure out how to make my scheme a reality. Then, whenever he sits down, it’ll play the fart noise.” They cracked up so hard and immediately collected up parts I could daisy-chain together; they were helpful, kind, enthusiastic, and knowledgeable.
It was the first place I sat in front of a computer (a TRS-80 Model III) and typed Can you imagine the power? And then, when you find out (if I remember correctly) that if you put a semicolon on line 10, your name will cover the whole screen instead of just a column? But they also looked very much like the control panel of the Millennium Falcon, so...yeah, I probably messed with them a little.
Point is, anytime something went out of whack with those components—and indeed, whenever we needed more solder, or the stuff you use to remove solder, or a soldering iron, or the armature that you hold a printed circuit board with while you solder on it—we were back at Radio Shack.
The sales were so steep that I bought my husband a bluetooth speaker he could listen to on his bike. The employees were kind—was that a knowing sorrow in their eyes?