I wrote recently about an experience with Ritz Camera, and their extended warranty. In this case, the victim was a digital camera.

Ritz called this evening, and I picked up a brand new camera. Ritz replaced my dented, waterlogged Coolpix SQ with an identical, brand new one. I had hoped for a store credit toward a newer, possibly five megapixle, model. Still, Ritz has a happy customer. The camera works great, even with the battery (and media) I dropped in the drink.

Last summer, I broke the carafe on my coffee pot. As I fished a spice jar from a cabinet above the trusty Senor Coffee, the small glass of basil or garam masala slipped from my hand. The spidering crack ended the long career of an appliance I viewed as indispensable.

Nine months later I haven’t bought another one, and it’s changed the way I drink coffee – for the better, I think.

A French press now fills that niche. As a device, it is both more simple and more involved. And that has brought the ritual back to my mornings.

You take the coffee, add it to the carafe, pour over hot water and push down the plunger. Done. The resultant blackness tastes buttery compared to its drippy cousin, and actually has crema like a good espresso pull.

The French press lacks a clock, doesn’t even have an LED. Unlike its predecessor, it lacks an alarm. I cannot wake me up from the other room with the smell of hot java. But, I have no plans to buy a new drip coffee maker. Mornings move a little slower now, and I like that.

Customer service. They all say they have it, but few really do.

Ritz Camera recently impressed me with its customer service. Granted, the store didn’t give me anything I didn’t pay for, but I was impressed nonetheless.

Last summer, I bought a small digital camera, with an eye on eventually dressing this column up with pictures. I also purchased the extended warranty on the camera.

So a week ago Friday, I loaded the kayak on the car, and went to Chassowitzka Springs down in Citrus County. It’s a lazy, sprawling spring-fed river that wanders out to the Gulf.

I think you see where this leads.

As the girlfriend and I were embarking, I dropped the camera into about an inch of water covering the cement of the boat staging area. Panicked, I scooped it up within a fraction of a second, but the damage was done: Not only was the camera water-logged, it had a slight indent running across the middle from the impact.

Its days as a functional bit of technology ended in that moment. At best, it could serve as a stylish paperweight.

At Ritz the next day, I sheepishly handed the device to the clerk, an 40-something man with a borderline Mennonite beard.

“I think I killed it,” I admitted.

“Can I use you as an example?” he asked. At that, the clerk took the camera down the counter, and told a prospective customer, a young European-looking teen, about my misfortune, and how he should buy the warranty if he didn’t want to end up in my sorry situation.

Then, I filled out my paperwork, and that was it. The camera will get repaired (doubtful), I’ll get a refurb or new camera of the same model (not likely; it’s discontinued), or I’ll receive store credit for the purchase price (likely). The cool thing: at that price, I get much more camera now than eight months ago.

Now, like I said, I paid for the warranty — about $40. But, there’s nothing that says the warrantee has to cover acts of dumbness. I doubt I’d get a similar agreement from big-boxers like Circuit City or Best Buy.

Bottom line: Ritz acts like it wants to build a customer relationship with me, and not sell me a camera, get my money and get me out the door. That makes me a happy customer.

Customer service. They all say they have it, but few really do.

Ritz Camera recently impressed me with its customer service. Granted, the store didn’t give me anything I didn’t pay for, but I was impressed nonetheless.

Last summer, I bought a small digital camera, with an eye on eventually dressing this column up with pictures. I also purchased the extended warranty on the camera.

So a week ago Friday, I loaded the kayak on the car, and went to Chassowitzka Springs down in Citrus County. It’s a lazy, sprawling spring-fed river that wanders out to the Gulf.

I think you see where this leads.

As the girlfriend and I were embarking, I dropped the camera into about an inch of water covering the cement of the boat staging area. Panicked, I scooped it up within a fraction of a second, but the damage was done: Not only was the camera water-logged, it had a slight indent running across the middle from the impact.

Its days as a functional bit of technology ended in that moment. At best, it could serve as a stylish paperweight.

At Ritz the next day, I sheepishly handed the device to the clerk, an 40-something man with a borderline Mennonite beard.

“I think I killed it,” I admitted.

“Can I use you as an example?” he asked. At that, the clerk took the camera down the counter, and told a prospective customer, a young European-looking teen, about my misfortune, and how he should buy the warranty if he didn’t want to end up in my sorry situation.

Then, I filled out my paperwork, and that was it. The camera will get repaired (doubtful), I’ll get a refurb or new camera of the same model (not likely; it’s discontinued), or I’ll receive store credit for the purchase price (likely). The cool thing: at that price, I get much more camera now than eight months ago.

Now, like I said, I paid for the warranty – about $40. But, there’s nothing that says the warrantee has to cover acts of dumbness. I doubt I’d get a similar agreement from big-boxers like Circuit City or Best Buy.

Bottom line: Ritz acts like it wants to build a customer relationship with me, and not sell me a camera, get my money and get me out the door. That makes me a happy customer.