I've often remarked to anyone who would listen that robots are becoming more like humans, and humans are becoming more like robots.

When it comes to the latter, nowhere is that more true than in my recent dealings with cashiers, managers, and so-called "customer service" agents at the merged office-supply powerhouse of Office Depot and OfficeMax.

"I do apologize" or words to that effect was the robotic mantra I received literally dozens of times when speaking to company employees on the phone, and in person, about OfficeMax's absolutely asinine corporate return policy, and the company's inability to actually carry out that asinine corporate return policy.

I am writing this as my first step toward recovering from an ordeal that started with the simple task of purchasing a router—a common chore that most of us have done, or will do, in the future. And I confess, however, that I lacked the willpower to refrain from being a jerk to most every OfficeMax employee I dealt with. I plead guilty. I literally could not help myself. I had my reasons. But I do apologize.

Mesh Wi-Fi

I am running an old Airport Extreme router from Apple, and I didn't want to be left out of the new consumer mesh Wi-Fi frenzy that everybody, including Ars, is talking about. I suspected my Airport Extreme was failing, as the signal at my California East Bay residence was intermittently turning my normal connection of 500 Mbps down and 20 Mbps up into a crawl.

After reading several reviews, including one here at Ars, I chose the Velop Whole-Home Mesh Wi-Fi product from Linksys. The single unit was advertised everywhere for $199.99. But OfficeMax had it for $179.99.

The first sign that I should have avoided OfficeMax was the online checkout page. The $179.99 advertised price, when clicking to buy, turned into $199.99. As I was scratching my head about how bogus this was, up popped the site's chatbot. Either a robot or a human robot gave me their name and typed, "It will be my pleasure to assist you today."

The chatbot replied that OfficeMax would honor the $179.99 price. All I had to do was purchase the product online, supply the chatbot with the order number, and the $179.99 price would be honored. I was skeptical but clicked purchase anyway because I was excited about getting a new router—and I could immediately go pick it up at the retail store about a mile from my house.

The $20 difference never showed on my invoice, even after I picked up my new router. So before I unboxed the product, I called the "customer service" phone line. I manipulated through the company's automated answering service that I suspect OfficeMax executives have never experienced or are too embarrassed to admit to having ever used. I finally got a human on the line and loudly explained my situation repeatedly.

"I do apologize" was the agent's response.

The company honored the $20 discount. I said a few more things I should not have said.

"I do apologize," was the agent's reaction.

This was only the beginning of my OfficeMax nightmare.

Take me to your leader

I began to set up my router, and I downloaded the Linksys iPhone app from the Apple App store. I finally got it up and running after several attempts using the app. Despite this setup failure, the app was pretty beast. It gave me all sorts of options, including one to cut Internet to any connected device I wanted. I had great fun secretly cutting off the Xbox connection while my two sons were playing—multiple times. "DAD!"

But such shenanigans weren't worth the $179 price. This router was working no better, and, in fact, was functioning worse than my Apple router. And every time I unplugged it to test it against the Apple router, I had to go through the same initial setup process after powering it back on.

So knowing that OfficeMax had a 14-day return policy, two days later, I packed up the product and drove it back to the OfficeMax where I purchased it.

I waited in line, gave the cashier my receipt, and set the Velop on the counter. After a few minutes of trying to give me a refund, the cashier called over a manager. Because I bought the router online, they said, I couldn't return the product to the store where I picked it up. The manager told me I needed to call their "customer service" number to arrange a courier to come pick it up from my residence.

I haggled for a few minutes, to no avail. I left with everybody in the store's cavernous warehouse hearing about how dumb I thought they were.

I drove the mile's distance home and made the call. After ping-ponging my way through the automated corporate telephone lines again, "I do apologize" was the response I got from the customer service agent after I explained my displeasure with the return policy.

That was on Friday, October 20. The representative said a courier would be over sometime between 8am and 5pm on Monday. After I said I wasn't going to wait at home all day, she said the courier would call to give a closer time window.

"I do apologize."

Monday came and went with neither a pickup nor a call from OfficeMax. So the next morning, I suffered through the corporation's automated phone line again and told my story—again.

"I do apologize."

A courier, I was told, would pick it up between 2pm and 4pm today (Tuesday). My response was unfit to print.

"I do apologize."

Nobody showed.

After suffering through the corporate automated phone line another time, I explained my story—yet again. Somebody, they said, would come Wednesday between 8am and 5pm to pick up the router.

"I do apologize."

I said I might not be there. I was told that I should just brown-box it up and take the product to a UPS store. I responded that I already took it to the OfficeMax store where I bought it and was rejected. So I said I wasn't going to drive it to a UPS store. Come get it was the G-rated explanation of what I said.

"I do apologize."

Later that day, Wednesday, I received a call from OfficeMax saying the package would be picked up not today but sometime between 8am and 5pm Thursday. The G-rated version of my response was the same. They said they'd call before coming to make sure I would be at home.

"I do apologize."

Thursday morning, a courier knocked on the door and picked up the router. I signed for it. I asked for a receipt, but the technology apparently didn't exist to give me one.

About an hour later, I got a call from OfficeMax informing me that a courier would be coming later that afternoon between 2pm and 4pm to pick up the router.

Click.

I’m a dumb Luddite

As it turns out, this entire ordeal could have been avoided in the first place. I was so excited to jump into the mesh-networking game that I committed a grave IT error. What I didn't do was run a speed test directly connected to my Internet provider's modem. Had I done so, I would have realized immediately that it wasn't my Apple router malfunctioning. Instead, it was either Wave Broadband's supplied modem or something else.

As I was waiting for OfficeMax to pick up their router, I called Wave Broadband. The cable guy came out and supplied me with a new modem. My speeds returned to fantastic, and everything was good. But like before, all of a sudden my network returned to a snail's pace. Clearly, there was a larger issue.

A different cable guy returned a couple of days later, ran all kinds of tests, and concluded there needed to be some work done on the telephone pole outside my residence. The next day, the service was performed.

My Apple router is now humming again at monster, Star Trek-like speeds.

All of that said, my business dealings with OfficeMax continued for another week after the courier picked up my return router. That's how long it took for my refund to show up on my PayPal account.

I'm never shopping again at OfficeMax, even if everything is free.