Brains Boiling in Skull - The Long Version

Dear Fellow Consumers of American Made Products Produced in China,

    When the wash machine only fills with enough water to wash a “small load” and no more, a person could spend a great deal of their time washing a lot of “small” loads of laundry all week—three socks and one dish towel at a time.  But a person could do it I’ve heard, for a while.  They could do it until the tedium of washing three socks and one dish towel at a time became so great that it’s either get a new wash machine or jump into the old one and push spin cycle—small load, of course. 

    Time for a new machine . . .

   . . . and the horror, the horror . . .

    By the time we got to Home Depot, a week had passed since the last “small load” of water had drained out of my wash machine and the motor had ground to a dusty, grinding halt.  A week with no wash machine and a new puppy.  Which is like having twelve new babies and no disposable diapers.  The laundry room was smelling a bit funky around the edges, but it would be all right because we had a new best friend—the appliance guy at Home Depot.

    “We need a wash machine and a dryer.  They don’t need to dance, prance, sing, or take dictation.  They don’t need to sense my clothes, close my garage, or mix cement.  They just need to wash and dry.  We have a new puppy.”  My husband and I were firm in our requirements.

    Our new best friend Ed’s eyes sparkled like phosphates when he said, “I can recommend this lovely washer and dryer,” he tapped a shiny, new model, “—very new—very simple—made by General Electric—very American.  I’d buy them myself if I was buying . . .”

    “Wrap them up.  When can we have them?  Remember we have a new puppy.”   My husband and I chuckled, knowing that our new best friend, Ed, would understand.

    Our new best friend’s phosphate eyes dimmed somewhat as he ran our credit card through the scanner.  “Not until next Tuesday.  We don’t carry them in-stock.”

    Determined to be reasonable we agreed. 

    The new wash machine and dryer were delivered the following Tuesday.  The wash machine did not work, making the delivery of the dryer kind of silly.

    We called our new best friend, Ed, and said, “Help.”  But Ed was busy so we left a message.  It read:  “Help.”  Ed got back to us late in the day.  He said, “No can help. You signed the delivery paper.  We can send out a repair man, next Tuesday.”

    “But dear new friend, Ed, it’s already been a week with no wash machine.  Then we waited an additional week for delivery “on Tuesday” and that makes two weeks.   So waiting another “until next Tuesday” will make it three weeks.  Do the math.   But we’ve just purchased, on perfectly good credit, a brand new American made wash machine—that does not work, so you understand our frustration, Ed, old friend, right?”

    “I’m afraid it’s store policy because you signed the delivery paper.”  Something behind my left eye snapped to attention, causing my neck muscles to clench, and my brains to start boiling in my head.  “We have to send a repairman out—no new machine.”

    I kept my voice calm.  “Ed, dear friend, would you please get the following message to your store manager?”

    “Certainly, Mrs. Z.”

    “Please write:  Dear Store Manager, please call Mrs. Zern—Z-E-R-N, because her brains are boiling in her skull. Write that part out, please, brains-boiling-in-skull.  Thank you.”

    Todd, the store manager called and asked for “my side of the story” and I gave it to him.

    “Todd, I don’t want to go through this again, but I will.”  And I did, the whole sad mess.  When I concluded I got to the good part of my speech.

    “Now, Todd, I know that America is balanced on the razor’s edge of destruction, especially when the average consumer—me—cannot get the satisfaction of a new working wash machine even when they have paid good money for it.  The Chinese are going to beat us, Todd, lead paint and all.  They are going to beat us.  Your store policy is foolish.  Your store service is non-existent.  Your customer service is poor at best.  You, Todd, and your organization there at Home Depot are the reason China is going to win.  You are killing America, sir.”  Silence.

    “If you were me what would you have me do?”  Todd said,  sounding twelve.

    “I’d have you come and pick up the broken machine and bring one that works.  Now—today.”  Silence.  “And I’d have you send, Ed, my bestest sales’s friend (when he was selling me the broken machine) over to pick up the two weeks worth of laundry sitting at my house so that he can take it to the laundry mat for me on his way home from work.”  Quiet chuckling.

    Then I brought out the big guns.  I played my trump card.  I played the soldier card.

    “Now, Todd, I know that a brand new—broken—wash machine is not a real big problem in the big picture of things, because I have a son in Iraq—a combat soldier son, on his second tour of duty,”  I paused for effect.  There was stony silence on the other end of the line.  “Now those people have problems, the people of Iraq, and my son (Did I mention he is a combat soldier in a war zone?) is right in the middle of it, but still and all, I’m sitting here with a brand new—broken—wash machine and more dirty laundry than is probably legal.”  I allowed my voice to trail away, and then I sighed for effect. 

    “It’s enough to make a person’s brains boil inside their skulls, Todd.”  I concluded quietly.

    They delivered a new wash machine the next day and a dryer.  The dryer was broken.

    It’s enough to make a person’s brains boil inside their skulls.

Sign Me,

Linda (Blood Pudding) Zern

        

   

   
 



  

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