Notes from Maine - 2022/09/04
I’m on hold again.
Back in July, I had a moment of laziness and I decided I would buy some painter’s tape from Amazon. Mom was coming soon, and I knew that she would want some tape. I know, I should have stopped at the hardware store, but my local hardware store is a Home Depot. I would have to clear my schedule, drive over there, park, strap on comfortable shoes, grab a snack and some water, maybe plan a rest stop or two, and then go in search of tape. It’s at least at twenty minute hike into the tape section. I just didn’t have that kind of energy.
Instead, I ordered the tape from Amazon.
A few days later, I pulled an envelope from the mailbox. It had a long slit in the side and a sticker explaining why less packaging is better for the environment. The envelope was empty. I returned to the website. They have a form where you can report lost or damaged products. I filled it out and they gave me instructions on how to return the damaged item.
Perhaps I should have simply returned the empty envelope?
Pressing on, I eventually discovered a phone number. They have a very cool system that automatically puts you on hold and then hangs up after five minutes. On my third try, I finally was able to talk to a person.
“We’re so sorry for your inconvenience. We know how frustrating this must be for you. Please allow me to…”
At every step, the person pre-apologized for each question, and then reiterated how sorry they were for taking up my precious time. It didn’t take long at all before I imagined that everything they said was dripping in sarcasm.
I should have driven over to the UPS store and returned the empty envelope. It would have been humiliating, but way less so than sitting through dozens of sarcastic apologies. Anyway, I got the replacement tape. Mom painted the barn and used some of it to mask the window trim. The story ends in success.
Yesterday, I got an email reminding me that I had seven more days to return the damaged product or I would be charged for it. It was like that scene from “The Ring” where Naomi Watts realizes that Samara is still after her. What choice did I have? Back on the phone, the apologies were interspersed with emphatic assurances that I would receive no more emails and that the transaction would be expunged from my account.
I don’t believe for one second that it will be over that easily.
I’m going to have to follow the trash truck next Wednesday morning and comb through the landfill until I can find the envelope with the slit in the side. It’s the only way to break this curse.