prolific.org

The EOS 300d is mine. Only it isn’t.

Read if you want to share in my consumer angst.

Having tortured myself over the cost of this toy, this thing I can only barely justify buying, (“I don’t have kids or pets to photograph, nothing worth saving for posterity…”) I finally managed to get over it and fork out.

I decided not to order online, but to go to an actual, physical shop. A place with a counter on which my I can bang my tiny fist when needed.

‘Ivo’ was going to make me a deal. He’d take in my old Olympus OM10 body plus a 50mm and a wide angle lens, and he throw in some goodies. I’m paying 200 euro more than I would have online, so I expect some swag.

He makes me an offer (a 256mb card, a UV filter, a sun cap) and I agree, run my bank card through the machine and say: “Oh and by the way, I want the European one (EOS 300d), not the American (Rebel).”

They’re out of the 300d, of course. They have one Rebel left, with a Sigma lens. Ivo says I can take it home, he’ll order the 300d for me and I can swap the Rebel for it next Saturday.

Okaaaaay. I agree. I sort of have to, because I’ve already paid.

They put everything in the box for me and I cycle home, and get rained on. The closer I get to home the more frustrated I am with the deal. All that money, and I have to be careful with this loan Rebel for a week? All that hassle and I don’t even get the ‘it’s miiiiine’ thrill?

I unpack the box. What a bummer you have to charge those batteries first. Why can’t they come fully charged? I locate the charger and the cable…

It’s an American cable. Which does not in any way fit our Dutch outlet. I do my best Edvard Munch impression.

So I ring the shop. ‘Terribly sorry, we have the Euro cable here, can you come get it? We’ll give you a camera bag to compensate.’

By now my head is starting to hurt. I get on the bike, go across town again, pick up the Euro plug, refuse the bag (I have lots of bags) and instead get a polarisation filter. Ha! Just what I wanted. A small victory.

I cycle back home, get rained on again. Stick the battery in the charger, check my watch. 90 minutes to go. I start assembling the camera…

The Sigma lens doesn’t fit. Looks like a Nikon fitting to me. When I was buying my camera, two other gents next to me were buying a Nikon D70. I bet they got stuck with the Canon fitting. Can’t anything go right today? Fortunately, my own sweet 50mm and the 28-105 lens both fit.

I ring the shop again: ‘Say, if you’re a Nikon lens short, I’ve got it, thanks ever so much.’ I can’t help but be a little sarcastic. To be sure they get it, I tell them I am seriously pissed off. Unfortunately ‘Ivo’ is with a client so I get some other bozo apologising on his behalf.

So here I am, with a head ache, a lousy mood, an empty bank account and a camera I’m afraid to touch.

There is a counter and my tiny fist will be banging it next Saturday. And that 256 card I found already sitting inside the camera? They’re not getting it back.