Columnist Muriel Stevens: Rules to make you see red

Wednesday, Feb. 17, 1999 | 10:06 a.m.

Madness in the marketplace is rampant. Oh, not the committable kind, just the kind that drives consumers bananas. There have been so many boneheaded things lately that I've been keeping track so that I could share them with you. These are just a few:

I recently accompanied a friend who was checking out bookcases on sale at Office Depot. They were not expensive, and delivery was included.

We were thrilled by the quality and low price. They passed every test. They were sturdy; the finish on the various sizes matched perfectly so when my friend placed them side-by-side they would have a customized appearance.

They were just what she wanted, and they were in stock. Not here -- that would have been too easy -- but in a warehouse in California. When she went to pay for them she was told they would have to come C.O.D., not prepaid. Why? According to the manager who was called on to explain this silly policy (the salesperson couldn't), deliveries from California can't be prepaid because "it's a different division and the computer will not accept the payment."

Nonsense? Yes, but an inflexible rule. Because my friend works, she could not be home to pay for the purchase.

After much discussion they worked it out. My friend would have another friend wait for the bookcases. The friend would pay for them with the buyer's credit card. Office Depot agreed to accept the signature of a person signing on a charge card that wasn't her's, rather than reconcile their computers.

Goofy rules are everywhere, especially at some banks. Why, when I deposit a check, does it have to be approved? Haven't had a sensible answer to that conundrum from any of the Bank of America supervisors I've asked. And I've asked many.

I'm making a deposit, not a withdrawal. "Over my limit," says the teller. "What limit?" says I. "This is /it my deposit, not yours!" Now I wait for a supervisor. What should have been a two-minute transaction is now much longer. Supervisors are always busy explaining foolish policies for which there are no explanations. It's not me, I'm assured. I know it's not. If a check deposited came back, I'd be charged a sizable return fee, even though the deposit had been "approved."

This past week I shopped my neighborhood Vons for three items. The people in line had a similar number. I should have been out of there in minutes. Instead, the line was stalled while the checker and a manager tried to figure out a new computerized register that now puts your name on the sales slip when you use a Vons card.

I was incensed that in order to get a few pennies off on groceries, I would have more of my privacy invaded. Of course, just using the card tells the world about your shopping habits, but I like a bargain as well as anyone, and my shopping habits are hardly secret.

I don't know why it's important to have my name on yet another dumb thing. I asked if they had a way to bypass this marvelous feature. "No," the assistant manager said, "but you could fill out another card with a fictitious name!" "I have a better idea," I said. "I'll shop at stores that offer cards without this 'Brave New World' feature." She laughed. "As soon as they hear about our doing it," she said, "they'll all be doing it."