Some Things You Can’t Un-See

My dad reminded me again recently that I haven’t been blogging.  I often make the excuse that it’s because there is nothing I feel passionately enough about to blog it.  But that’s not true.  I have very strong opinions on the jerks that make up our Congress, certain workplace politics and goings-on, and a certain NFL fumbling running back by the name of David Wilson.  But I can’t talk about them here … even my right to free speech may not protect me in that case.  I also have happier (but equally passionate) feelings about Christmas and Tom Brady’s handsome face.  But no one wants to hear me rave about those things either.  But today, I was out running, and I saw something that you can’t un-see.  Something so disturbing, on so many levels, that I feel too passionately about NOT to share it with everyone that I know (and even those I don’t).

You may or may not recall our next door neighbors, affectionately dubbed “The Unfriendlies”.  I haven’t written about them in quite some time.  In the past year, they have become significantly friendlier.  I even started feeling guilty about calling them the Unfriendlies.  And their garage hasn’t caught on fire again.  So that’s good.  We think Mr. Once-Unfriendly-Turned-Friendly is training for a triathlon.  Instead of filling their garage back up with exotic animals, they just filled it up with bicycles.  Or so I thought ….

When their garage caught on fire a couple years ago, there was a news article about it.  It turned out that they had some rather exotic pets in their garage that had to be rescued – two alligators, a snapping turtle, and cat.  I realize that cats aren’t generally “exotic”, but it must have been a fairly intimidating feline if it could co-exist with those reptiles.  Anyway, a heat lamp for these animals was what started the fire. 

So, since the garage was repaired I have kind of kept an eye on the ever growing contents of their garage every time the door is open.  This isn’t snooping, if you were wondering.  It’s called good sense.  And being aware of your surroundings.  “Unagi”, if you will.  I haven’t seen any sign of the former or current pets.  Until today.

I was finishing up a run and stopped as I reached our block.  I was walking towards our driveway, and their garage door was open.  I happened to glance that direction.  They weren’t around, but two glass tanks against the back wall of the garage caught my eye.  That was new.  As I walked up my driveway, I was able to get a better look inside the garage at the tanks.  And their contents.  And that is when my insides froze.  Because one of those tanks holds a big, gigantic, long-tailed RAT.

That’s right, a RAT.  And not just your average outdoor rat (I saw one of those once while camping), but a big, fat, healthy indoor rat.  And before you get all “rats make lovely pets, why are you so narrow-minded” on me, let me just explain something.  I am immensely afraid of fire.  So much so that I can barely light a match.  And this is only because my high school chemistry teacher forced me to learn to light one.  This is why their adjoining garage catching on fire scared me so much.  But I have an even larger, and very real, fear of any and all four legged rodents.  I would gladly face fire any day if it meant I never had to see or deal with another rodent as long as I lived.

I have enough of a problem with mice.  Both places we’ve lived had mice when we moved in, and we had to deal with getting rid of them.  We were very successful in doing so, and were therefore able to enjoy several mouse-free years afterward.  But those experiences were rather traumatic for me, and I do not wish to repeat them ever again.  All those people who say, “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them,” – yeah, they don’t know what they are talking about.  I don’t think they can fathom my level of fear.  If the common cold doesn’t kill me first, don’t be surprised if I meet my maker by suffering a heart attack from the sight of mouse.  I’m always so grateful that I just don’t live in a city with a big rat problem.  

In our neighborhood, people’s animals never seem to stay where they should.  Cats, dogs, wild children – they all seem to wander freely.  So you can see why I might have a teensy weensy problem with our neighbors, who have already proven to not be the most responsible pet owners, keeping a gigantic pet rat in their garage, directly adjoining our garage, which directly adjoins my HOUSE.  I don’t even want to imagine it getting out.  Except that since I saw it, I can’t STOP imagining it breaking loose and going all Ratzilla on all of us.  I have a strong suspicion based on it’s size that it’s either on rat-steroids, or it’s pregnant.  Neither one of these scenarios are ideal.

As with every terrifying moment in life, there is a lesson to be learned here.  People may change on the surface, but they don’t change on the inside.  Even formerly unfriendly turned friendly people.  Congress will always be full of jerks who care more about playing power games with each other than doing the right thing.  Tom Brady will always be the most handsome player in the NFL (sorry, Colin Kaepernick, nice effort though).  David Wilson will always fumble when you need him most.  And neighbors with weird pets?  Will always be neighbors with weird pets.

Eli Manning Tries To Earn My Forgiveness

Tonight, Eli Manning will be hosting Saturday Night Live for the first time.  And shockingly, I will be watching.

Eli Manning has crushed my dreams not once, but twice.  For this I can never forgive him.  So why am I watching him on SNL, you ask?  For the same reason that I could not bring myself to purchase this shirt:

Because I love Peyton Manning.  Granted, not in the “I love Tom Brady” sort of way.  But because he is one of the classiest guys in sports, honest & hard working, and flat out HILARIOUS.  His episode of SNL is probably one of my favorites.  See the proof:

Peyton Manning For United Way skit on Saturday Night Live via ebaumsworld.com

Out of respect for Peyton, I could not buy the shirt.  And out of respect for Peyton, I am watching Eli on SNL.  If Eli is half as funny as his big brother, he will be worth watching.  (I assume he must be at least a little funny, otherwise why else would he have all those commercials?  They can’t all be because of Peyton.)  If he is REALLY funny, he may even drop a few spots on the Enemies List.   

Have a good weekend, and whatever you do, I hope you get some laughs in too.

Still Smoking

You may recall the little incident that I wrote about in February, in which our adjoining neighbors’ garage caught on fire, yet they never managed to tell us about. 

I was really mad at the time.  I wanted answers.  Since Mr. & Mrs. Unfriendly next door were never going to tell us what happened, I called our townhouse management office that Tuesday.  And called.  Left a polite voicemail.  Called some more. Left another polite voicemail.  Called some more.  Left a rather unfriendly voicemail demanding an answer by the end of the day Thursday.  All to no response.

I wanted to find out what happened, make sure the threat of fire had been eliminated, and verify that we did not have to worry about our shared garage wall (which includes our gas water heater and electrical panel, if you were wondering what I was so worried about).  Since management here is clearly useless, I finally decided to take matters into my own hands – I Googled our neighbors address.  And came up with this headline:

“Two Small Alligators, Snapping Turtle, and Cat Survive Fire”

 

At that point, I don’t know what disturbed me more – the fire, our slacker property managers, or the fact that my neighbors are housing ALLIGATORS and a SNAPPING TURTLE.  I wonder how the cat likes them?

 

So that Friday, I was off work, and stomped down to our rental office to give them a piece of my mind.  “Hello, I am the girl whose calls you aren’t returning,” I announced.  They gave me a big story about how they had been out of town at their corporate office dealing with ‘fire stuff’.  That’s fine and dandy, but put that on your answering machine!  (Or, novel concept – check your messages remotely.  What if there was another emergency?  Or worse, another fire?). 

 

They then told me that the fire had been “user error”.  Cue blank look from me.  They elaborated, and it turns out that “user error” is code for “heat lamp over magazines”.  They also said that the damage had mainly just been smoke damage, and assured me that we had absolutely nothing to worry about.  YEAH, RIGHT.  Had they not heard about the alligators?

 

We got renter’s insurance later that day.  And promptly started looking for a new place to live.

 

ANYWAY . . . the point of this blog was not to tell you that story.  That story was just to catch you up on everything, so that I could tell you THIS story:

 

So this Monday, we had a beautiful one day reprieve from the endless rain.  Nathan took advantage of the lovely weather by washing his car.  While he was outside, a random unknown neighbor approached him and said, “Don’t mind my dog, he’s really friendly, he just runs away from me.” 

 

Nathan looked around and realized the guy’s dog was over by the fence that leads from our front yard to the back yard.  The neighbor asked Nathan to help him get the dog back.  Apparently this dog really did not want anything to do with its owner (a fact that I find rather troubling, but there isn’t much we can do about it as we don’t know who the neighbor is or where he lives).  Again, why are all our neighbors so weird?

 

Nathan was finally able to reunite dog and owner.  The guy thanks him.  And then looks around and says, “Hey!  Aren’t you the guy whose house caught on fire?”

 

Nathan: “NO.”

 

NO, we are just the idiots who live NEXT to the idiots whose garage caught on fire.

 

And always will be, until we can escape the nut job neighbors on this street.

 

I think we would both be great hermits.

License and Registration, Please

This weekend, we made the trek up to Washington to celebrate some of Nathan’s family’s birthdays.  They live in Skamania County in the Columbia Gorge, which is a really beautiful area no matter what time of the year.

Nathan’s mom was able to get us a room at the Skamania Lodge at a majorly discounted rate (thank you!).  The Skamania Lodge is a massive hotel tucked away in the woods above Stevenson.  It’s got conference rooms, pools, hot tubs, restaurants, and a gazillion rooms.  I guess it is pretty fancy schmancy in comparison to your regular old Best Western.  It doesn’t have the luxuries, amenities, or privacy of a five star resort (we realize now how  spoiled our honeymoon made us), but it’s certainly nice enough for a one night stay.  My biggest complaint was that the heater was louder than our furnace at home.  And we all know that I am a regular Kevin McAllister when it comes to loud furnaces. 

Nathan went out in the evening to celebrate his brother’s 30th birthday, and I stayed at the hotel to relax.  I had planned to hit the hot tub and pool until I realized how many children were there for spring break and nixed that plan.  Instead, I ordered room service and watched Bridesmaids.  The beauty of room service is that you can order off the children’s menu without being judged.  I had checked out the dining room’s menu, but as appetizing as rabbit soup does NOT sound (yes, I said RABBIT soup), this is not the Hunger Games and I am not a starving citizen.  Also, I am morally opposed to paying more than $20 for one meal.  I returned to my room and ordered the $5 kiddie grilled cheese and fries, and then dug into the Keebler Elf cookies I got at Market of Choice earlier that day.

Around 11:30 that night, I went to pick Nathan up from the birthday bash in the next town over.  It’s about a 10 minute drive up Highway 14, which is a really curvy, dangerous road.  Another storm had rolled in, it was extremely dark out, and I was driving in a torrential downpour and could barely see anything.  Fun, right?  I picked Nathan up, and we headed back to the lodge.  Almost immediately after I turned onto Highway 14, a car appeared behind me.  Their headlights were blinding me even more, and I complained about it and adjusted my rearview mirror, joking to Nathan to watch behind him and make sure it didn’t end up being a cop.  Turns out, the joke was on me.

Not less than a mile later, I notice the flashing lights behind me.  I was not speeding (the speed limit is only 50 MPH, and I was going 40 due to the rain, dark, and sharp curves with gigantic signs recommending speeds of only 30 or 40).  “Are you kidding me?” I said to Nathan.  “I’m not doing anything.”  I pulled over, irritated and annoyed because I KNEW I had not been breaking any laws.  The following conversation then took place (after I had rolled down the wrong window, because having never been pulled over, I did not know that cops approach the passenger window and not the driver’s). 

Officer: “Hello folks, –”

Nathan: “What exactly were we doing wrong?”

Officer: “Don’t interrupt me!  Now as I was saying, I pulled you over because you have a brake light out.” (Readers should note that I was not aware of the brake light being burned out.  However, while one brake light was out, the other two were working perfectly fine.  If you have a husband as smart as mine (or access to Google) you will find out that the law only requires two working brake lights.)

Nathan: “OK . . .” (While wondering why this warrants me being pulled over.)

Officer: “Also, I noticed you were driving slowly”. 

Me: “I can’t see anything.” (Gesturing to the monsoon outside.  And wondering if this officer would rather be peeling me off the roadside because I was speeding and wrecked in the pouring rain.)

Officer: “No drinking tonight, right?”

Me (makeup-less, wearing glasses, past my bedtime, and wondering how stupid this guy has to be to even suggest it): “No.” (Although I may or may not have been on a chocolate/sugar high from all the ElFudge cookies, so take THAT!) (And if he really thought I had been drinking, I don’t think he would have just ASKED me and taken my word for it.  I’m pretty sure he would have said, “Prove it.” So why bother asking me, dude?)

Officer: “OK then, license, registration, and proof of insurance please.” (Leaves me to stew about the unjust-ness of it all.)

We sat in the car for a few minutes while he ran my information, only to find that I have never committed a crime or traffic offense in my life.  HA! 

Officer: “Where are you folks headed to tonight?”

Me: “Back to the lodge in Stevenson.”

Officer: “OK, well I am going to let you go with a warning.  Make sure you get the brake light fixed.  Have a good night.”

Nathan & I:  Silence. (Wondering how I could be getting a ‘warning’ for something that is not a ticketable offense. Wondering exactly how fast he expects me to drive in massive storm.  And very much NOT wishing him a good night in return.)

I cannot tell you how MAD this whole experience made me.  I have never been pulled over in my life until last night.  (Once in high school, I thought a cop was pulling me over.  I accidentally drove off the shoulder of the road trying to pull over for him.  It turned out he just was in a hurry to get somewhere, felt really bad that I got so scared, and he came back and helped me get my car back onto the road.  Very nice guy.) 

I am not pretending to be a good driver – I speed, I drift, I forget to use my turn signal.  (Heck, when we finally did get back to Stevenson, it was so dark and rainy that my husband had to point out to me that I was driving in the turn lane instead of my own.  Pull me over for that, if you must!)  But if I am getting pulled over, it should be for breaking the actual rules of the road.  NOT for complying with the law by having two out of three working brake lights.  NOT for driving at safe speed in inclement weather on a dangerous road, because I am terrified and would just like to get back to my hotel alive.  And NOT just because I happen to be driving late at night.

I have never agreed with the stereotype that cops are jerks.  I still don’t.  I like to think that they are mostly good people who are just trying to protect us.  But with my experience last night, I finally understood the reasons why that false stereotype gets perpetuated.  Being in the situation, it was very clear that this guy did not pull me over just to give me a friendly heads up on my brake light.  I felt targeted, like this guy saw me pick someone up from a bar, and pulled me over HOPING that I had been drinking and he could bust me.  Well, too freaking bad for him.  I hope he felt like an idiot when it became very obvious that I did not have a single drop of alcohol in me, and that I was just a traveler from out of town trying to navigate an unfamiliar road in the pouring rain.  I would NEVER consider drinking and driving and endangering myself or others on the road, which is why I was serving as a designated driver in the first place.  I’m still mad just thinking about it. 

In the end, I guess the real joke was on the sheriff.  He was the one who had to stand in the pouring rain, get freezing cold and soaking wet, only to find out that he had pulled over a innocent person whose biggest traffic offense was terrible night vision.  Happy April Fools, buddy. 

The End of An Era (or, Good Riddance, I-5)

Today was the end of an era for me in many ways. It was my last day at work – new job starts Monday. It was my last day commuting on I-5. And, it was the last day of my nearly eight year steady relationship with Eugene. (Eugene the city, not Eugene the person. I don’t actually know a person named Eugene.)

Eugene and I go waaayyyyy back. As a kid, it was the place of fun – good malls, fancy movie theaters, and track meets.  Eight years ago, I moved to Eugene for college, where I got to continue the fun close up.  After three and a half years at school (two years spent living in the city), I graduated and got a job in a neighboring town.  So for the next four years, I still came to Eugene 4-5 days a week for work, shopping, date nights, and general fun.  I came to take it for granted that I would be in Eugene regularly and able to take advantage of all it has to offer.

But today was the end of that.  Since we moved last year, it is actually just as easy for me to go shopping in Portland, where I have more options.  And  we don’t have to drive to Eugene for date nights anymore because we have plenty of restaurants and movie theaters around here.  It is weird not knowing when I will next make the trip to Eugene, because I don’t have much reason to go there anymore.  I will miss the atmosphere of the city, my friends at work, and being able to go to the mall as I please.  Eugene will always have a special place in my heart.

What I will not miss?  Interstate 5.

For those of you unfamiliar with Oregon, I-5 is basically the only way to get anywhere that is anywhere.  The vast majority of our population lives on or near the I-5 corridor.  As a result, I-5 gets a lot of traffic.  And I spent my commute this week thinking of all the things I will not miss about I-5:

The Crazy Semi Truck Drivers:  Maybe it’s not just Oregon, maybe semi drivers are crazy everywhere.  But here, they are not only crazy.  They speed, swerve, cut people off, and generally break nearly every rule of driving.  (Although I will say they are pretty responsive if you want them to honk their horn).  When it snows or ices over, they drive 75 while everyone sane else drives at 50 or below.  Their trucks have the magical ability to create their own storm system of rain and wind.  And the day I got a flat tire and pulled off at the rest area in the pouring rain (with no idea how to change it), how many of the many semi drivers pulling in stopped to help me?  The answer is NONE.

About four years ago, Nathan & I went to church in the little town we lived in.  During the part of the service where people can ask the parish to pray for something/someone important to them, one lady’s prayer stood out to me in particular.  She said she had recently graduated from truck driving school, but that it was a miracle because she failed all the tests and they passed her anyway. (?!?!?!?!)  She wanted to give thanks and pray to God for this blessing.  I wanted to pray too - if only to pray that I never encountered her and her semi truck on a freeway.  But most days, it seems as if every truck driver on the road is that woman.

The Crazy NASCAR Wannabes:  This category is comprised of the crazy regular drivers who feel the need to drive everywhere at 85 mph, weave in and out of traffic (without blinkers) before slamming on their brakes, and flash their brights at anyone who dares to drive slower than 75.  They are most commonly found on I-5 on Fridays afternoons, when apparently no one in the state of Oregon is at work.

The Crazy Non-Headlight Users:  It drives me bonkers when I am driving in a torrential downpour on I-5, barely able to see ten feet in front me, and other drivers do not have their lights on.  TURN ON YOUR HEADLIGHTS FOR SAFETY, PEOPLE!!! DO YOU NOT SEE THE SIGNS???  People already think Oregonians are nuts for speeding through massive rainstorms, let’s not encourage the insanity by refusing to turn our headlights on while doing so.  I really don’t want to rear-end your car, and I don’t think you want that either.

The Wind:  Much of I-5 is in a valley, with open fields on either sides.  It makes for very windy conditions, even on a nice day.  And on an actual stormy, breezy day, the wind blows you all over the place, locking your hands in a death grip at ten and two.  There was literally a day last week so windy that I felt like I was in the Wizard of Oz, driving into the tornado and waiting for a cow to fly across the road in front of my car. 

The Lack of Exits:  Unless you are smack dab in a metropolitan area, exits on I-5 are few and far between.  This is a problem if you are out of gas, directionally challenged, or suffer from what my dad likes to call tiny bladder syndrome.  One night in college, the fog was so thick that I missed my exit ramp, even though I knew that I was near it.  I couldn’t see it until the very moment I passed it.  My house was less than 5 minutes from the exit, but I had to drive 25 minutes farther north until I could take the next exit and turn around, adding about 45 minutes total to my trip.  Boy, did I feel stupid when I had to explain why it took me so long to get home.

The “Bump”:  A couple months ago, during a week of massive rainstorms, a gaping hole opened up in the right lane of the freeway near Eugene.  To call it a giant pothole would be putting it lightly.  Every single morning for two weeks I would forget and hit that stupid hole in the dark on my way to work.  After a couple weeks, the road crew finally decided to warn people.  They put up a sign that said “BUMP” and was well over a mile in advance.  So you would drive cautiously thinking, “Where’s the bump?”, assume you must have passed it, and then right about that time - BAM.  Your tire would nail a direct hit.  After about a month, they finally got the good sense to fill the pothole, but apparently decided to leave up the “BUMP” sign for entertainment value.  Or perhaps they knew they did shoddy work, because I noticed yesterday in the daylight that our most recent storms have opened the hole back up.

I could go on, but I have gone on long enough and I think you get the picture.  Good riddance, Interstate 5.  Eugene, we’ll meet again.  And back roads?  Please don’t flood from snowmelt and force me to take I5 to the new job next week.

Hi-Di-Ho, Good Neighbor! Do You Smell Smoke?

Nathan and I have had our fair share of bad neighbors.  Back in the day, there were the neighbors fondly known as the “White Trash Neighbors” who held a garbage garage sale in their yard, and when the weekend was over pulled a tarp over everything and left it that way for the next three months (other offenses included a million yappy Pomeranians and common-sense challenged children who played in the street or OUR yard).  Then there were the “Melanoma Twins”, who had a penchant for sunbathing on their unfenced back patio (which faced our front door) in sixty degree weather in all their beer belly glory.  There was the kid down the street who played cards in our driveway one day and left one there – Nathan put them at the edge of the yard for him to pick up, and the next day the kid left him a threatening (for a five year old) note that said “Give Me Back My Card”.

These days we have the “Car Washers” across the street, who wash their car every other week, rain or shine, and stare at us the whole time without saying anything.  We have the large ethnic family next to them, who seem to have family reunions every other weekend that require them to take up every parking space on our street, and whose teenagers are fond of blasting ear-drum splitting music out of their garage.  Then there are the neighbors on the other side who insist on putting their trash cans in front of our house instead of their own, thereby blocking the mailbox and starting a war between my husband and the lazy (cranky) mailman.

But this weekend, our neighbors in the adjoining townhouse took the prize for “Worst Neighbor of the Year”.  Until now, their biggest offense was that the female half is Mrs. Unfriendly, and they let their children play in our yard.  That was before Friday night.

Nathan & I had gone out for dinner and to an Oregon State gymnastics meet (more on that later).  We had been gone since early afternoon and didn’t get home until after 10 pm.  As we drove up, Nathan commented that the neighbors must be going out of town, because they already had their trash cans out for Monday.  Mr. Unfriendly was in his driveway loading things into his car and (predictably) ignored us as we walked inside. 

So we walk inside, and immediately cringe because our living room STINKS.  It was this awful chemically smell that neither of us could identify.  We searched high and low, established that nothing was burning or leaking.  We aired out the house until we froze, but as soon as we shut the windows the smell settled back in.  We thought it might be coming from the garage but couldn’t really tell.  Since the smell seemed mostly isolated to the living room, and there was nothing we could do about it, we decided to go to bed (and hope that we weren’t poisoned by fumes in our sleep).

The next morning I was woken at the crack of dawn by doors slamming and banging outside.  It was so loud that I thought someone had come into our house.  No one was here, of course, and I assumed it was one of our rowdy neighbors.  They were noisy all morning, eventually waking Nathan up as well.  We had no idea what was going on and wrote it off as all the crazy people in our neighborhood.  Until we walked outside to the car and saw Mr. & Mrs. Unfriendly’s garage.

(Keep in mind that this picture was taken a day later, under the cover of night, so that it does not appear that we are stalking our neighbors.)

The first thing we noticed was the plywood.  It was weird, but certainly explained the noise.  Then we noticed that the trash bins at the edge of the driveway were black, and turning back towards the garage noticed that the fire extinguisher cabinet was broken open.  The plywood was propped out, leaving an opening into the garage, and no one was around so Nathan peeked in.  The garage was empty but the walls were completely covered in soot, and it smelled like the chemically smell in our house times ten.  They had a fire in their garage Friday evening!

We knew they were okay, since the house was still standing and we had seen them last night.  The bigger concern was that their house caught fire on the ONE adjoining wall that we share with them – our garage – yet Mr. Unfriendly did not think this little tidbit was worth sharing with us when we walked past him Friday night?  How hard is it to say, “Oh by the way, we had a fire today.  Almost burned your house down, but no worries.  Do you have renter’s insurance?”  Hellooo!!!!

The chemically smell has since faded from our house.  The Unfriendly’s had contractors over all day today, who blocked our driveway and gave us yet another reason not to like them.  They still haven’t said a word to Nathan or I, although they did manage to clean their trash cans.  The chemically smell is slowly fading from our garage, but the dislike of our neighbors is not.  We both feel that a fire in a garage that shares a wall with our house is something worth mentioning to your neighbor.  Just a thought.

Someday, we hope to live in a neighborhood with NORMAL neighbors.  We don’t even have very high standards for normal at this point, so it shouldn’t be that hard to find.  But for now, we’ll settle for a house with no shared walls.  Someday, we’ll find our Wilson.

The Evil Empire (aka, Macy’s)

This week, Macy’s has officially taken over the position of my Number One Enemy.  My list of enemies is rather long (Eli Manning, the New York Jets, bugs, rodents, farm animals, United Behavioral Health, the State of Florida, neighbors, and dust, to name a few), so to take over the number one spot is a fairly impressive feat to say the least.

Nathan and I had some Macy’s gift cards that we received as wedding gifts.  We decided to use them to buy additional sets of dishes.  From the end of January to mid-February, they held a big home sale in which you also got 20% off your remaining wedding registry items.  Our dishes were on sale for buy one get one free, so we were able to get four sets for approximately $28 each, when they normally sell for $72.  We were going to go to the store, but then realized why drive 30 miles when we could get free shipping online?  I was over the moon about this awesome deal.  Unfortunately, this is where my happiness ended.

When our dishes arrived, Nathan & I opened the sets up to check that the dishes were all in good condition.  In three of the four sets, there was a problem with the bowl.  One was chipped, one had paint discoloration, and the other did not have the brand stamp on the bottom like every other dish does (seems small, but Nathan pointed out that when you pay that much money for dishes, you should have proof of what they are.  And I agree with him.).

I was frustrated that we would have to send back three sets, but we had to exchange a set with a broken bowl a few months earlier and it was really easy, so I didn’t think much of it.  At that time, I had called Macy’s and explained the situation, they sent out a new set the same day and I sent the damaged set back at their expense.  The whole process took less than a week and was fairly painless.

So, on February 6th I called Macy’s about this most recent problem and explained what had happened.  The girl I talked to seemed really confused, and kept asking me what kind of bowls I wanted to exchange for (cereal, soup, salad, etc.).  I explained that it came in a SET, not individual pieces (which should have been obvious considering that my order was for four PLACESETTINGS, not four bowls), and it was just described on the set as a bowl, period.  She finally came to the conclusion I had originally anticipated, which was that she would send out three new sets and I would send back the three damaged sets.  She said I would probably get charged for the return shipping and I would have to call and ask for it to be waived.  I asked if maybe I wouldn’t be better off exchanging them at the store, and she said she didn’t think I could even return them to the store.  She said that the dishes would be sent out that day and that everything would be communicated to me by e-mail.  The whole thing seemed like a lot more hassle than our original return, but I figured as long as I got my non-damaged dishes, who really cares?  That was my first mistake.

So on Tuesday the 7th, Nathan packaged up the damaged sets and took them to FedEx to be sent back.  Fast forward to last weekend.  Still not a single bit of communication from Macy’s.  No change to my order status on Macy’s.com.  No charges on my credit card.  Mysterious, no?  I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe they were waiting for my first dishes to be returned. That was my second mistake.

Sunday night, I received an e-mail from Macy’s.  “YAY!”, I thought, “They finally got their act together and shipped our new dishes”.  THIRD MISTAKE.  Their e-mail was thanking me for my recent e-mail to customer service (also mysterious, since I never e-mailed them), and telling me to call them because they needed information from me about my order to process my request.  Grrrr.  But okay, I would call them, and then everything would be fine and dandy.  (HA! MY FOURTH MISTAKE! WHY DO I CONTINUE TO HOPE FOR THE BEST IN PEOPLE?)

So, Monday the 13th I call Macy’s again.  I give the girl my order number and tell her I am calling in response to an e-mail request from them.  She pulls up my order and says, “So, tell me about your order”.  I want to scream, but I calmly tell her about our damaged dishes, the phone call on the 6th, that we returned the dishes on the 7th, and received the e-mail last night.  She asks me what is wrong with the bowls.  I tell her the same thing I told the rep on the 6th, and remind her that I have already told them this.  She then places me on hold, comes back and says she is holding for a senior to help her with my order (why???), and then puts me BACK on hold.  After several minutes, she comes back and says they have sent a request to the warehouse for three new sets of dishes to be sent to me today.  I ask how I will be able to follow up on this order if there are questions.  She says I should receive e-mail communication regarding all of it.  I tell her this is what they told me last week, and I did not receive a single e-mail.  Her reply?  “Well, you are supposed to get e-mails”.  Well, that’s freaking fantastic, but it doesn’t make it true.  Regardless, I decide to not argue the point because now they have clearly gotten the answer to whatever their mystery question was, so even though I had to have a repeat of last week’s conversation, at least my dishes are on their way. 

FIFTH MISTAKE.  I WILL NEVER LEARN, APPARENTLY.  NEVER!

It is now officially Friday, February 17th.  11 days after my first call and 4 days after the second.  I have yet to get a single e-mail from Macy’s regarding any progress on my order.  I have yet to receive any money refunded back.  I paid $114 and currently possess one set of dishes.  And I am beyond mad.

GIVE ME DISHES, OR GIVE ME REVENGE!