I was expecting a delivery yesterday. It didn’t come. No huge surprise, given that it’s the busiest time for shipping companies. I went online with the Tracking Number to see if I could figure out when it might come. Hey! It shows a “delivery confirmation.” Further investigation reveals that my package has been delivered to a furniture warehouse about 50 miles from here. Ugh … here we go!
I called the customer service number and, of course, got an automated system that asked for my tracking number. I repeated it multiple times, only to have that stinking thing tell me, “I’m sorry. I did not get that. Please say your tracking number.” Well, the tracking number is as long as my arm, and apparently that machine is hard of hearing. Trust me … this is NOT a happy way to start the day. I decided to go fetch a cup of coffee and start over. Second call produced the same results. No matter how many times I repeated that number, it didn’t work. So I just stayed silent. Then the machine asked if I would like “her” to transfer me to an agent. Well, yes … please and thank you.
It transferred me to a live person with the stereotypically foreign accent who apologized for the inconvenience it must be causing me, and who said he would have to transfer me to someone in another department. “Hold the line, please.” (I'm guessing, here. I really didn't understand a word he said.)
The transfer was to yet another automated call-taking piece of junk. It informed me that I could track my package online at www…
It ran thru a litany of services available online, and then rattled off a phone number I could call as an alternative. Wait … what? I missed something! It rattled that number off so fast I missed the ninth digit, and it did not give the option to have it repeated.
A live person came on but, of course, would have to transfer my call. “But unfortunately, they don’t start until 7:00 in that department.” Having gotten this far, I told her that if it were likely they would actually START working (as opposed to hanging around the coffeemaker) at 7:00, I’d hold. I’d been at it for 30 minutes already, what’s another five?!? So hold I did. And, my faith in miracles was restored promptly at 7:00 by Rhonda. She picked up the phone and said she’d try to find my package. I told her that we already know where it is, the question is how are we going to get it HERE? I was to hold while she tried to call the place that now has my package. At 7 a.m., nobody was available to take the call and so Rhonda’s only recourse was to start a “tracer.” She needed to know the contents and value of the package, etc., etc. I told her it is thread.
“Red? Red WHAT?”
“Yes, but red WHAT?“
“Not red. Thread. THREAD! Like a person uses to sew with. Thread! Ever seen any of that, Rhonda?”
How long will that tracer process take? It can take up to eight business days. I sweetly (seriously! I promise I WAS sweet to Rhonda!) said I understand that mistakes are easily made, but they can be just as easily remedied. Just send someone to fetch the package and deliver it to ME. We don’t need to trace it, we need to fetch it. Just call the furniture warehouse back at 9:00 and tell them someone is coming, then DO it.
Okay … this is getting incredibly long, so I’ll cut to the chase. Rhonda sez “no can do.” I give up and go to the barn, now about an hour late for morning chores. And what do I find there? The old ewe who ALWAYS has twins that she cannot feed, isolating herself from the crowd. Oh, no! Here we go again …