Last year I parted with some cash because I needed a car stereo that played cd’s and had an aux input so I could plug my Treo in and listen to podcasts.

Since I’m a fan of pain, I went to Best Buy. Best Buy is famous because… well… because there are so many of them and they have big yellow signs. They used to be famous for their horrid return policy and shitty merchandise. Fortunately they cleaned up their return policy.

The other thing BB is famous for is clueless help. Make that clueless and invisible help. Ok, clueless, invisible help, and the fact that you can’t buy an air conditioner there when it’s hot outside.

In any case, they lived up to their reputation when the salesman told me all sorts of interesting previously unknown facts (because I’m not allowed to call them lies) about their car stereos and because they couldn’t quite figure out how to install it in my car. Ok, I can’t fault them for that.. who ever heard of a Caprice anyway?

On the way home is a Circuit City. This is another store with a well-deserved reputation. In spite of its reputation, I stopped in to see what was available. The well-educated salespukes, recently fired from Best Buy, no doubt, were most confused by my request for an auxiliary input. After convening a Car Stereo Summit, they determined that I could choose from three entire car stereos (then fled so fast it made my head spin). Of course they mentioned that I was entitled to free installation.

Choosing the Sony because it was… well… one of the three, cheap, and had a hideous green display, I made sure the help could spell Caprice, paid, and was told that this wouldn’t take long at all. Oh, did I mention it only needed a FEW adapters for the install? Only about $60 worth.

An hour later, I started to show a bit of concern. Not able to see my car or an installer, I carefully checked around to make sure no one had driven the car to North Philly, where they like to race old cars with big engines (the fate of my last car).

A short 30 minuts later, someone apologized and informed me it would only be a little longer. I pulled out my Treo and started reading my e-copy of War and Peace.

Another interminable amount of time later, it was finally finished. The installer looked to be all of sixteen. Amazed that I still had a dash, I sped away. Since this was my first `modern’ car stereo, I could barely figure out how to turn it on. Plus it was so dark I couldn’t see even if I knew how.

I grew to love this Sony. Not because of its hideous green display, the interminable installation wait, or the fact that my wife turned it up so loud that I could hear her coming from down the street. No, I loved the stereo because it simply worked. How many things today simply work? God knows that NOTHING in my house or at work does.

I’m the only person I know who listens to his phone in the car. People look at me funny, but then again, people always look at me funny. The faceplate of the unit comes off, which I discovered by accident one day. Somewhere inside the black hole that I lovingly refer to as my house, exists the remote control for the unit.

Yes, I have a remote control for my car stereo. I have no idea WHY, but I have a remote control for my car stereo. Perhaps it’s brought to me by the same people who figured that cell phones are such a great idea for the car, I dunno. I can operate the radio by feel, as opposed to looking for the remote, which will invariably be lost (like the rest of the things that aren’t stapled to my forehead). In fact, the ONLY thing a remote might be useful for is turning the unit off while my wife is driving it. On the other hand, it masks that nasty squeal that the brakes make.

The squeal is pretty obvious, but a real head-scratcher is the tapping noise. It took about a month to figure that one out. It was my dashboard, which was totally mangled by the alleged technician at Circuit Shitty. I didn’t realize til I looked closer, but the little so and so SCREWED my dash back up. He put an actual metal screw through my genuine imitation walnut plastic veneer to hold it on.

Two weeks ago, just out of spite, the aux input stopped working. I haven’t checked the date, but I’m going to guess my warranty was up two weeks and one day ago. I keep hitting the SOURCE button and it keeps refusing to say AUX. I figured maybe it was cold or something, but no - I can’t use the aux input. Maybe it’s my fault for not buying an iPod with an iRadio for my car, but I’m not going there now.

After two solid weeks of trying to remember to remove the faceplate, or at least write down the model number, I finally got it into the house and got on the Sony website. You try locating something on the Sony website. It’s like trying to find food at the Philadelphia Zoo - it’s all McDonalds.

After a brief eternity, I located car audio. Stupid me… I shoulda known to look for XPLOD.sony.com - it’s not only a marketing gimmick, it’s what they DO. I checked the manual, the FAQ, and Support, all with the same results; none.

With no other choice, I used the email support option. Why they need your name, address, marital status, and sexual preference, I’ll never know, so I took the liberty of entering some that I made up on the spot.

When it came time to enter the actual issue, I took great pains to describe the problem and steps I took in plain english, so as not to confuse whatever they have answering email over at Sony. Of course I should know by now that whenever I write in plain english (or complex english or pig english or Farsi) it always comes across in Swahili.

I explained that the aux input wouldn’t work. I told them that the contacts were clean, there were no obstructions, and the Treo works everywhere else. I also mentioned that if they can point me in the right direction, I can probably make any repairs.

I have to hand it to Sony. On a Sunday, I got a response within about four hours. They told me that, based upon the symptoms (they copied my text, word for word), the unit would need Service and that I could go to this site to initiate Service.

Yes, Swahili.

So unless I can successfully divine the mystical answer to my problem, I’ll have to somehow remove the entire stereo (causing my dash to fall to the floor) and send it to a Sony repair center.

I’m not sure Sony would know what to do with my dash, but I refuse to send it to them regardless. They’d no doubt tell me that after looking at it, I’d definitely have to send it to them.

Why can’t I buy some Korean piece of dung for $39.95, like everyone else?