Posted by
Andrew Roman on Friday, December 26, 2008 4:05:03 PM
It has been a wonderful holiday season thus far for my family and me, and I sincerely hope it has been the same for each and every one of you.
As I try to work myself into a post-Christmas blogging mind set, and veer away momemtarily from the political, I am curious if there are any less than serious Christmastime mishaps anyone would like to share? Any retail store nightmares? Goofy little Yuletide anecdotes? Traveling disaster stories?
I have an interesting little situation that I hope will be resolved soon – and I’m confident it will. I thought I'd pass it along.
I won’t mention the name of the chain store involved in this story. Rest assured, however, it is a well-known national retail outlet that I'd be willing to wager practically everyone has been to at some point.
Anyway, I purchased two items through this unnamed chain store’s web site – let’s call them “Pest Pie” for the sake of this discussion – on December 21st using a debit card. These items were meant as gifts for my twin teenage daughters who, incidentally, are inching ever so-closer to college age. (Not quite there yet, but soon).
The method of delivery I chose for these gifts – two mini portable HP notebooks that can fit in the palm of your hand - was “store pick up” - a good choice, I thought, because it would, first of all, save me money on shipping charges. Second, it would guarantee the gifts to be in hand by Christmas.
It didn’t take long – maybe a matter of a few minutes – before my debit card had been sucked of the money it cost to buy these two items and I received a confirmation e-mail that the two notebooks were, in fact, in stock at my local “Pest Pie” store, waiting to be picked up. The receipts that came via e-mail had actual, honest-to-goodness, bona-fide, real-life confirmation numbers for each item.
The next morning, with a Burl Ives tune in my head, a steaming debit card in my pocket, and the feeling of a guardian angel hanging over my shoulder (because I found a parking space within one half-mile of the store’s entrance), I frolicked into “Pest Pie," with receipts in hand and confirmation numbers at the ready.
After giving the young man at the pickup window my driver’s license, the debit card used to make the purchase, and printed receipts, I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Seventeen thousand people came and went to that little pickup window while I stood there waiting.
And waiting.
Finally, with the rings around my trunk growing exponentially, and the moss already covering the tops of my feet, the clearly-disinterested young man came back to me and spoke those fateful words that send chills down the spine of even the most hardened men – “There’s a problem with your order, sir.”
Me: “Really?”
Happy Employee: "The items you purchased are missing."
Me: “Excuse me? Missing?”
Happy Employee: “Yes, sir. They’ve gone missing. We cannot locate them.”
Me: “But I have confirmation numbers.”
Happy Employee: “Yes, sir. But the items aren’t here.”
Me: “But the e-mail said they were here.”
Happy Employee:“I know. They’re missing now.”
Visions of a famous episode of Seinfeld came roaring into my head – the one where Jerry is wanting to rent a car, and despite having the reservation in hand, he discovers there are no cars to be had.
“Well, I’m sorry we have no midsize available at the moment.”
“I don’t understand. I made a reservation. Do you have my reservation?’
“Yes. We do. Unfortunately, we ran out of cars.”
“But the reservation keeps the car here. That’s why you have the reservation.”
“I know why we have reservations.”
“I don’t think you do. If you did, I’d have a car. You see, you know how to take the reservation. You just don’t know how to hold the reservation. And that’s really the most important part of the reservation – the holding.”
As I tried to wrap my brain around the idea that these items that I paid for were somehow "missing" - and with the young "Pest Pie" representative in front of me texting away to his heart's delight to who knows whom - I decided that with only three days remaining before the holiday, I would ask for the money to be credited back to my debit card immediately so I could make other arrangements for the twins' presents. I was told that I would need to call the customer service number and cancel the order. Once that was done, I could get the immediate credit.
So I made the call.
Right there in the store.
If I told you how ridiculous I must have looked making this phone call, right in the middle of "Pest Pie," trying to avoid being crushed by holiday shoppers near the front doors (so I could get phone service), I couldn't do it justice. It, too, was something out of a Seinfeld episode because I simply couldn't hear a single word the woman on the other end of the line was saying. She was, in Seinfeldian-speak, a "low talker" - and I wasn't about to hang up and try again. I had already waited on hold seventeen minutes.
So there I was, standing in the middle of the "Pest Pie" lobby, with throngs of irritable Brooklyn Christmas shoppers teeming past me, one finger buried in my free ear to block out noise while I frantically tried to make out what this useless customer service rep was mumbling. Within minutes, I'm yelling into the phone at the mute-mouthed telephone rep (as if that would make me hear her any better), "I'm sorry?! Can you say that again? What?! What?! You want the last four digits of what????"
I'm sure there has to be a security tape somewhere of a bouncing idiot with a finger in his ear, screaming into a cell phone making the rounds of "Pest Pie" employee break rooms everywhere.
Eventually, the low-taking woman - who was either named Jennifer or Window Slat - was yelling back at me so that I could hear her.
When it was over, I went home and bothered no one for the rest of the day.
The next morning, I checked my account online and found (predictably) that my card had not been credited for the purchase amount of two mini notebooks.
I did, however, receive another e-mail confirming my original order, with a whole new set of confirmation numbers. I was charged again for two HP mini notebooks and told they were in stock, ready for pickup at "Pest Pie."
I had now paid for four of these things, and had none to show for it.
Please understand that I am rich by no means (except maybe to Barack Obama, depending on how low the threshhold goes this month). As I do every year, I started saving for the holidays just before baseball season started. I always use that a reminder to start stashing cash for the holidays. Indeed, I did have enough money in that account to cover the cost of two additional HP mini notebooks. However, that money was reserved for other things - like presents for other people ... and msicellaneous incidentals like food and water for us, that we might eat and sustain life.
Naturally, I called the good folks at "Pest Pie," and told them my little story - this after having to choose "english" as my main-menu telehone language not once, but twice, and waiting on hold for twenty-three minutes.
Would you believe me if I said I didn't even receive an "I'm sorry, sir," or a "We apologize for any inconvenience," or anything remotely similar to a smidgen of human decency?
I bet you would.
So, the only thing I could do - seeing as I had already purchased accessories for the mini notebooks - is try and get enough money together to purchase them from elsewhere - yet again - so I'd have them in time for Christmas, i.e, borrow from someone or sell a kidney, and then pay back that money with the refund cash I'm supposed to get from "Pest Pie" the moment it is credited to my account.
It wasn't easy, but as it turns out, I did purchase the gifts for my girls - and they absolutely loved them.
Of course, I have yet to see the any money credited to my account. I'm sure it will be a "three-to-five business days" deal.
*cough*
I wonder if that's the first time anyone ever had to pay for six computers just to get two.
Andrew Roman
Brooklyn, NY
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