The Tarradiddle Dish Vol. 2

Dave Javu

Exactly what do you do?

As luck – or lack of it – would have it, the old Speed Queen dryer just simply wore out the other day. This, of course, is due to the punishment that having six kids imposes on such devices and made worse by the fact that the kids use the dryer as an iron in the A.M. to get the wrinkles out of their clothes. Well, it was 15 years old and who knows how much poundage it suffered during it’s productive years. Nonetheless, the quest for a replacement has been at hand ever since.

I don’t know why the convention of electric over gas dryers is the provincial orthodoxy in the northern Rockies. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that we have all of that cheap, lovely hydro-power. The days of really cheap hydro-power are gone now though, so one would think that the economics of gas dryers would produce more choice from local vendors. Alas, not so. Most retailers simply do not keep gas models in stock here and must special order them. Having moved here from Chicago a few years back I brought with me a gas dryer and had to have the house plumbed to accommodate it. But with a family the size of a zip code, the money saved in the long run makes it well worth it. Accordingly, I’m at a disadvantage in the “instant gratification” department as I write this.

The quest began innocuously enough. Given that my hatred for shopping is only eclipsed by my contempt for Noam Chomsky, I figured that I’d let my fingers do the walking. Web sites first. Each of which had plenty of gas dryers available. So, I found the one I liked at Home Depot and made a call to ensure that one was in stock. Drat! Seven to ten business days off. Another site, another call, another drat! And again, and again. Finally I make the call to most banal of banal – Sears.

The clerk who answered the phone had a pleasant enough sounding voice and demeanor. I asked “Do you have any gas dryers in stock?”

“Oh, I think so” she said “but I can’t find my sheet. Hang on” Which I did for what seemed to be long enough to run to the liquor store and baste my frustration. Then, after the ear piercing pain of the faux Muzak had rattled my nerves I hear “Hello, may I help you?”

“I assumed I was being helped. I called about a gas dryer???”

“Oh no, I’m soooo sorry, I forgot. It’s soooo busy here today. Could you just come in?” she pleaded.

“Well no, I can’t come in. I’m in a wheel chair and my aid is off getting her schnauzer trimmed,”

Now don’t go thinking that I’m just a liar and will do anything to get over on the poor dupes that have to make a living at Sears. I just wanted from Sears a schnitzel of information. The kind of information that the damn phone is perfectly suited to get. I mean, why should I get in my car, burn gas, pollute the atmosphere with the risk that what was in stock was either out of reach or not adequate. My question wasn’t related to rocket science for cripes sakes and I’d venture that my nine year old daughter could have figured it out with 10 minutes of training.

“OK, hang on” click – Muzak – pain. The pain was intensified by the fact that it was Babs Striesand singing – my contempt for which is only eclipsed by my contempt for Chomsky. Then I hear “Hello, may I help you?”

“I guess not. Remember? Gas dryer?” Now I was beginning to get testy.

“I’m sooo sorry sir, I can’t find my sheet. Can’t you just come in?” she again pleaded.

“Remember? Wheelchair? Schnauzer?” I lied.

“Oh I’m going to have to call you back. I’ll call you right away. What’s your number?”

So I wait. That was Saturday. Today is Wednesday. No wonder K-Mart could find enough change in the cushions of their cheesy Martha Stewart patioware to be able to buy what was once the American standard for quality, price and service.

The issue here is not simply Sears though. It’s an issue of what some of us think our jobs are and who is the customer. The poor dolt on the phone had no concept that I was standing at the ready with cash in hand appropriately intended to add to someone’s commission check. Hell, she may even have been able to plead me into waiting a couple of days for one to be shipped in if she had been at all officious. I’ve got some advice for that air-head; find your sheet and tape it to your ass. That way, every time you sit down, you’ll remember what the f_ck you’re there for.

Actually I did make it to Sears on Sunday and found them to be both over-priced and as lacking in service live as they were on the phone. I still haven’t made up my mind as to what to buy . If I don’t get it done soon Mrs. Javu will launch off into the psychotic housewife routine and threaten whatever serenity that can be found between the itchings of the teenage vampage that eat out of our pantry like a bunch of starved sharks. Then her contempt for the piling-up tonnage, that is the laundry, will only be eclipsed by her contempt for me. I wonder if I can plead her into seven to ten business days and not get my schnauzer shaved.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 9th, 2005 at 2:49 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.