And this all took place just yesterday! (Click on the picture to make it bigger.)
Lessons Learned
On our moving day, M and I drove past an abandoned car along the interstate. A bit later, we passed a young man carrying a gas can back toward the car.
“Looks like someone learned a lesson,” I said to M. “And I’m glad it wasn’t me. I hate learning lessons.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said.
One of the lessons I’ve learned this week was not to buy appliances from Sears. I suppose the appliances themselves are fine, but here’s my (painfully detailed) story about customer disservice:
Section I: The Purchase
We decided our townhouse would be more rentable with not just a washing machine but also a dryer. Because of our renovations, however, there was no place for a dryer except for on top of the washing machine, which meant that we needed to buy stackable units.
At the local Sears appliance center, saleswoman Melissa talked me into a set, deliverable last Friday.
“How far is your townhouse from here?” she asked. “My boyfriend works in that area.”
“Sixty miles,” I said.
Section II: The Workday
On Saturday, J and Nephew J and I piled into J’s truck with the units on the trailer and puttered up to the townhouse. J installed the dryer vent and did some other structural prep work while I fiddled and faddled trying to reverse the dryer door’s hinges (to better suit the space). It took me a while, but finally we were both ready to do some stacking.
By that time we were running quite late, so my blood pressure was rising just a bit, which didn’t at all lessen the anguish of discovering that the units weren’t a pair. The stacking kit simply would not accommodate the washing machine.
I had been sold the wrong washer. Rats.
I called the store. Daniel answered.
“Could you tell me if these two units can stack with each other?” I asked him.
“I don’t know; you’d have to talk to our installation guys.”
“Is one available?”
“No, but let me check something.” Then, a minute later, “Here’s the customer service number to call; my manager said they can help you.”
I wrote down the number. “Thank you,” I said. “May I speak to your manager?”
“Let me check,” Daniel said. Then, “Actually, he just stepped out.”
Right.
So I called the Sears customer service number. After some navigation (usually just pressing the zero button multiple times is the quickest way through automation), I finally learned that the stacking kit for the washer is indeed different from the one we had. Our trip had been in vain. (Well, not completely–at least the groundwork for a dryer had been laid.)
J’s advice to me was to go back to the store and talk to my sales person, Melissa. The store would rectify the problem, he assured me. I wasn’t too hopeful, but his suggestion seemed to be the best option. I was just mad that I’d taken up his time and used up his gas and put miles on his truck and the job still wasn’t finished.
Over the weekend, I came up with a plan.
Section III: Going Back to the Store
Chapter 1: First Problem Solved
When I stopped in, at about 4:15 (after my first day at my new job orientation), Melissa was helping some other customers. Finally at about 4:40 she was free, and so I explained the situation.“Oh, that’s bad,” she said. “You know what happened? When I ordered the washer for you, I just chose the cheapest model, since the one you wanted was the cheapest one in the store.” (Note: When you shop at a Sears store, they just go to Sears.com and buy the thing for you. I’m guessing I could have done that myself–and ordered the right thing, at that!)
The washer I received and the one I requested were the same price, so I told her that I really didn’t care about that, except that I wanted them to stack.
“I’ll order you the right stacking kit for free,” she said.
It’s to be delivered here to our apartment in the next week.
Chapter 2: Real Problem Introduced
“Thank you for ordering that for me,” I said. “I really appreciate your help.”“You’re welcome,” she said, but I didn’t pick up my folders from the desk to leave.
Instead, I said, “The other problem is that I hired a builder friend for $100 to help me install the set, and I’m paying him fifty cents a mile, and so I’m out $160, and we weren’t able to finish the job because we received the wrong washing machine. I would like to be reimbursed for those expenses.”
Chapter 3: Really Stupid Idea
“Uh, I don’t think we can do that, but maybe we can give you some gift cards, or something,” Melissa said. “I need to ask my manager.” She retreated to the room behind the one-way glass, and I sat and listed as Daniel tried to get the attention of a nearby elderly customer. “Sir!” he demanded. “Sir! Sir!”Melissa came back only to say, “We could give you a $20 gift card.”
“No. I would like $160 refunded to my credit card. What’s your manager’s name?” She told me and I wrote it down. “May I speak to him, please?”
“He’s in a meeting right now,” she said.
“Okay, I’ll wait.”
Chapter 4: Okay Idea
“Let’s call customer service and see what they can do,” Melissa suggested. “Here’s their number. Do you have a pen to write it down?”“Can I wait here while you call them?” I asked her.
“Uh, sure,” she said. After awhile into the call, she said the lady wanted to speak to me.
I reexplained the problem.
“Sir, what we can do is give you a $75 refund for one of the machines.”
“Could you do $75 for each machine? That would almost cover my costs.”
“No, just the one. Would you like me to credit that money to you?”
I should have said yes right then, but I hadn’t played all my cards yet, and so I got a case number and said I’d call back to confirm that action.
I should add that, during that call, when I was put on hold for about ten minutes, I asked Melissa if I could speak to the manager while I was waiting, since I’d seen the person he was meeting with leave. She went to check, and reported back that he wanted to wait to see what customer service would say.
“Maybe I could get my boyfriend to help you install it,” Melissa said. “That way you wouldn’t have to pay your friend again.”
Chapter 5: Another Really Stupid Idea
“They’d give me $75,” I said to Melissa after I hung up. “But all this still leaves me out $85,” I said to Melissa. “May I speak to your manager?”“He might not want to,” she said, but she went to his office and he emerged. Cold. Livid.
“Could I show you the problem?” I asked him, wanting to use the floor models to explain.
“I know the problem,” he said. “We don’t know who’s to blame.”
“Yes we do. I indicated which units I wanted to buy, and I received an incorrect one. I don’t think I should have to pay for a mistake that wasn’t mine.”
“Well,” he said, “the company has offered you $75, so that’s what we can do.”
Chapter 6: Trying to Get the Second Mile
“Can I just show you the problem on the floor units?” I asked.He came out from behind the counter and watched while I explained.
He walked back behind the counter.
I walked up to the counter.
He stared at me.
I said, “Look, I came here to buy these things because I heard you had good customer service. But it’s not happening.”
“What do you want me to do, pay out of my pocket?”
I lifted my eyebrows and shrugged.
Chapter 7: Yet Another Really Stupid Idea
“Would you like to return the units?”“Sure,” I said. “But there’s a 15% restocking fee, and then I’d be even further behind.”
“I’ll waive the restocking fee.”
“Can I have that in writing?”
“Sure.” He got a pen and paper and began scrawling: “Customer will return units with owners manuals and all paperwork for full refund if there is no damage to…”
I interrupted, “No damage to what?” I was concerned he wanted the packaging to be intact, too.
“Don’t talk to me. Can’t you see I’m writing?” he snapped.
“I’m sorry, I’ll wait,” I said.
Chapter 8: A Possibility
But then I thought of something else: What about just getting it installed for free? Would that solve my problem? “Mr. E? Your last name’s E, right?”“I said, don’t talk to me. I’m writing this up for you,” he snapped again.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. I’ll wait.”
When he was finally done, I said, “It’s Mr. E, right?”
His stonefaced unanswer: “We’ve made our offer to you.”
“Look, I don’t want to return the units. If they’ll stack, I’m happy. But you’re right–the $75 from the company would cover my friend’s mileage, and if you could install the units for free, then my problem would be solved. But I can’t miss work to meet the installers.”
He said to Melissa, “Melissa, When is that free installation crew available?”
“I’ll call him and ask,” she said. “He’s working 12-hour days, so probably only Saturday. I’ll try to call him.” But her boyfriend wouldn’t answer the phone.
Chapter 9: The Final Solution
“You know,” I said, “I don’t want to inconvenience Melissa’s boyfriend. I think if you just reimbursed me, everything would be a lot simpler for all of us.”Mr. E stalked away. I stayed put, determined not to leave until satisfied.
I asked to borrow the phone to call back customer service to confirm that I wanted the $75. (Long story short: I have to wait until my Sears card comes in the mail before I can give them the account number in order for them to credit my card. My fingers are crossed.)
While I was on the phone, I could see through the one-way window just enough to see a safe door being opened. A bit later, Melissa walked over and handed me a check for $75.
As I finished my call, I scrawled a thank you note to each of them. To Mr. E, I wrote, “Thank you for standing behind your business.” To Melissa, I wrote, “Thank you for your kind help.”
I took the check and left. It was after six o’clock.
Epilogue
I’ll feel more resolved about the whole matter once the check is successfully cashed and my Sears card refund comes through. Then I’ll be able to reimburse J for his expenses and time, and uncross my fingers. That will be satisfying.
Perhaps just as satisfying will be knowing that I performed–I think–rather impressively. Not to brag or anything, but it’s nice to know that even hotheads like me can be calm, cool, and collected in problematic situations.
And that’s a good lesson to have learned.
Green Thumb in Training
The Perfect Receiver of Generosity
I like to think that when family come over to help paint almost the entire interior of our for-sale house (Thanks, Mom and Dad), or help me install a washing machine and dryer in the same, also-for-rent house (Thanks, J and J), that I am a jovial, relaxed, fun person to work with.
But I’m not. Instead, I’m a worrisome, fretful, snippy, stressed wretch just wishing to be rid of the whole deal.
The house, that is–not my family. (Just to clarify.)
Personal and Corporate Ethics
It’s been an agonizingly painful wait for President Bush to do something that will leave even a small degree of positive residue on his legacy, but at last he’s taken a high road. Faced with an Olympian’s bikini’d behind waiting for a slap, he back flicked instead.
Good for him, I say–but too little too late. In retrospect, I’m still pleased with myself for not voting for him, although that’s basically no consolation, overall.
It appears that John Edwards hasn’t exercised similar restraint in recent times, very unfortunately. However, his moral digression does not necessarily mean he would not have deserved my vote, had he stayed in the Democratic primary race long enough to get it.
“Really?” you might ask. “You might have voted for an adulterous person?” It’s a good question, and it brings to mind an article I once wrote for my hometown’s newspaper. It was a “dig up some news to write about” piece, an interview with an Anabaptist minister opposed to Bush’s policies following the September 11, 2001 World Trade Center attacks.
The pastor commented that whereas President Clinton had lacked a strong sense of personal ethics (can you believe that the Lewinsky mess was already ten years ago?) but possessed strong corporate ethics, President Bush, while having strong personal ethics, lacked a strong sense of corporate ethics. (The pastor, a recovering alcoholic, also said that Bush still exemplified behaviors of addicts, namely refusing to accept reality or admit he’s wrong.)
If I had the choice to make, I think I would much prefer a politician who can make wise decisions for the nation in spite of his or her personal weaknesses over one who totally screws up everything but keeps his or her personal life in order.
Fire and Brimstone Tent Revival
It’s a mixed bag, religious practice, but somehow we pick and proceed, each of us with our own sort of universal sincerity.
Last night our friends A&P&C came over. They brought us supper: fresh corn on the cob picked by A’s parents, veggies, new potatoes, tea; M and I had made a peach tart for dessert, with peaches picked by a local farmer. After eating, they whipped out their toothbrushes to spruce up while I cleared the table and M fed N. N takes forever to nurse, so we had to catch up with A&P&C later.
“Just look for the big tent with lots of cars,” they said. And the “Tent Meeting” and “Tent Revival” signs. He would be leading the hymns before the preacher, a former New York City Puerto Rican gangbanger turned conservative pastoral counselor, would take the stage for the sixth of ten straight nights of preaching.
The breeze wafted through the tent and fluttered the drapes marking off the women’s and men’s prayer rooms and silently permeated all with the smell of the sawdust aisles and invitation area before the platform. “The service will end with an invitation, probably,” A had told us.
“I’m going to pick on someone tonight,” began the preacher, at almost exactly the same moment that he similarly dealt with his wedgie. “What did I preach about on Tuesday?” (Nobody remembered; it was “sin.”) “What did I preach about on Wednesday?” (Nobody remembered; it was “salvation.”) “Alright, who was the 16th president of the United States?” (A guy with a dark beard answered.) “Alright, how old am I?” (Lots of people knew; the previous night he’d told his life story.)
“Our ability to remember is a marvelous thing,” he said, and thenceforth followed the account of Lot, or rather Mrs. Lot, since it was her example, of turning back to the past and therefore into a pillar of salt, that we were to tuck away in our hearts, and other conveyances of whatever the Spirit laid on the preacher’s heart (“Speaking off the cuff,” M called it later) made imperative by loud vocalization and emotional appeal.
It’s odd to go to such a tent meeting among cape dresses, coverings, buttoned-up white shirts, to sing along with the hushed “Just As I Am” during the altar call (no one came forward). It felt like time travel, going back to our parents’ childhoods, back to a black and white era of strict boundaries of separation. Somehow I feel a common bond with these people, but I don’t know if that sense is reciprocated. Instead, maybe I fit into the preacher’s category of “wannabes,” people who want to be Christian but also want to be of the world. I probably don’t yet qualify as a hypocrite, since you have to be “in” before you can be inconsistent.
This feeling of historical visitation or my perhaps certain–in their book of judgment–eternal uncertainty remains unbroached with our super-conservative friends. I’ve had consciously to decide not to take personally or become personally offended by anything religious that I could construe as exclusionary and instead to perceive it as but a sincere attempt to do what is right. After all, as the elder’s sermon (delivered before the preacher’s sermon) last night suggested, it’s not where we’ve been but where we’re going that matters.
And for this week’s visitation, we’ve picked a Lutheran church.
Applause, Please!
Two Rooms with a View
Perhaps my favorite thing about our new apartment is that I can be in the whole thing all at once, nearly.The bedroom, cave like except for the window “terrarium,” has its own privacy, but the living room, study, kitchen and eastern view of mountains are all, well, right there. Little N with her happy smiles, quiet play, tentative shrieks (just for fun, it seems), and first tooth is never far out of reach.
Off in the distance we can hear construction work, and maybe some quarry noise, and–way far off, down below–the hum of the city. The neighbors’ chickens cluck and a small dog yips occasionally, and just now a train whistle blew. (Sixty miles away at our old house, I’m sure the big dogs are howling it up like normal while the grocery store dumpsters are being emptied with tremendous crashing.)
I feel at last, after all summer preparing for this transition and feeling stressed about the still-unresolved, imperative necessity of renting out or selling our previous house, that we’re on vacation.
That is, on vacation with friends and family not far away. Last night friends C&K&P picnicked with us in honor of my birthday; right now M is bicycling business rounds to siblings H and D&A. And I’m here typing and listening to good morning music.Very mellow.
Church-Scouting Testimony
You can tell a lot about a church from its sign out front: “You think it’s hot here? Beat the heat with Jesus.” Or, “God is as big as you make him.” Or, “Islam and the West.”
I only remember where–at a Unitarian Universalist church–I saw one of the above quips (Can you guess which?), but each is revealing. Hellfire and brimstone avoidance, divine creation (best perfomed after looking at self reflections in bowls of mushy Lucky Charms), intellectual complexities of abstraction… Where might one find a home?
One of the biggest downers about our upcoming move is leaving behind our beloved church. It’s small, with people of many backgrounds and persuasions, with good music, with supportive friends, with opportunities to contribute. It’s the only one of the denomination around, too, whereas we’re moving to the Megatropolis (note the capital M) of denominational sogginess and–my new word here–perflusivity.
Figuring out how to find our place in church among the denominational repletion in our new hometown is going to take time, and a lot of tentative scouting. I’ve decided, for starters, to look for a few key elements in the churches we visit, such as these:
1. No territorial flags, U.S. or otherwise. Unless, perhaps, they’re all there.
2. No crosses. I don’t worship the cross.
3. Good music. Accapela. In parts.
4. Friendly people. We’re toying with the idea of repeat attending a church for as many times as we’re invited home for lunch afterwards.
5. Down-to-earth sermonizing with an ear to the real world.
6. Potlucks. Lots. But only on Sundays when we’re not otherwise invited to lunch.On-the-Ball Blues
Okay, okay, so I’m learning–to procrastinate, to jump no gun.
A month ago I eagerly set up my new classroom. It was super sweet. Last week the principal called to say he needs to move me to a different room. Did I want them to move my stuff, or did I want to do it? he wondered. I said they could do it.
Then, last week, I learned that since our house will be vacant while we find renters or buyers, our homeowner’s insurance with Travelers may not be renewed. I quickly called Travelers to find out if this was actually the case, and was relieved when the agent told me very plainly that they would allow renewal (at the end of August, for a whole year) so that we could have time to sell or rent the place.
However, yesterday I received a letter from Travelers stating that the policy would not be renewed. I called them tonight, and the dude said that sorry, if only I would have called a few days later, they would not have had time to notify me of the impending nonrenewal and so they would have had to renew it for the upcoming year.
What in the world! My de-stressing strategy of handling situations before they become crises has become distressing! I think I’ll just have to become a lazy, uneager, live-for-the-moment-because-actually-caring-about-whatever-is-about-to-come-down-the-rapids-only-leads-to-premature-anxiety none-go-getter.
Perhaps my favorite thing about our new apartment is that I can be in the whole thing all at once, nearly.
Off in the distance we can hear construction work, and maybe some quarry noise, and–way far off, down below–the hum of the city. The neighbors’ chickens cluck and a small dog yips occasionally, and just now a train whistle blew. (Sixty miles away at our old house, I’m sure the big dogs are howling it up like normal while the grocery store dumpsters are being emptied with tremendous crashing.)
I feel at last, after all summer preparing for this transition and feeling stressed about the still-unresolved, imperative necessity of renting out or selling our previous house, that we’re on vacation.
That is, on vacation with friends and family not far away. Last night friends C&K&P picnicked with us in honor of my birthday; right now M is bicycling business rounds to siblings H and D&A. And I’m here typing and listening to good morning music.