For fuck’s sake,
There was never any chance that Amazon wouldn’t fuck this up.
I ordered a set of towels last week, and on Friday, I received notification that they had arrived. I’ve ordered these same towels before, so I was surprised when the shipping confirmation said the package was left in my mailbox. There’s no way anything aside from a handful of bills and the occasional threatening letter could fit in my mailbox. And sure enough, they weren’t there.
When I called Amazon, the sales rep was apologetic, and agreed that my mailbox was not large enough for oversized Egyptian cotton towels AND hate mail. They immediately agreed to replace the order at no cost. The next day, I had two packages waiting for me on my doorstep. It turned out that the original package had been delivered to the office—not the mailbox—and the replacement package was delivered to my doorstep.
I don’t know why, but I felt guilty. I pictured a starving family somewhere in Darfur or Vermont, sewing my luxury towels by candlelight, supporting themselves with the small profit margin afforded to them by Amazon. I’d already opened the boxes, and I wasn’t willing to inconvenience myself with a return, but at the very least I thought I could pay for the extra order.
Ty: “I called earlier this week and said that I didn’t receive my order. You shipped a replacement, and the original showed up. I’d like to pay for the free replacement.”
Operator: “My name is Syem. What was the order number?”
Ty: “Hold on, let me just check the tattoo on my arm I got to commemorate that. I don’t know it. It was the most recent order.”
Syem: “And you want to order another replacement?”
Ty: “No. Where did you—no. I want to pay for the replacement because I found the original.”
Syem: “Unfortunately, we are now out of stock for the item you ordered so I could not take a payment for that item.”
Ty: “But I already have it. I don’t need it to be in stock. It’s here.”
Syem: “Yes, I understand completely. But the item is out of stock.”
Ty: “Probably because you keep sending out free ones?”
Syem: “What is it that I can help you with?”
Ty: “I got an extra set of towels. And I want to pay for them.”
Syem: “You could return them?”
Ty: “Well, if these are the last in the collection, I’d prefer to keep them. Maybe they’ll be a collector’s item.”
It goes on. And on. At one point, I offered to return them if they would agree to ship them right back to me. It was genuinely an empty gesture. He was insistent that I would be credited the amount for the original price if I did that, and that I’d probably never see them again. I couldn’t live with that.
Clearly sensing my dissatisfaction, the offered a courtesy credit to my account.
Ty: “You want to pay me to make up for the fact that I can’t pay you for something you didn’t mean to give me to begin with?”
Syem: “I am having a hard time hearing you…”
Ty: “That’s because my electric wine bottle opener is a bit loud. Listen, just make a note on my account that I tried to pay for the towels and you wouldn’t let me.”
The call dropped. I’m throwing in the towel on this one. I was frustrated almost to the point of tears, but really, the Egyptian cotton was like an instant healing sensation to my face. As was the wine.