Ranting for Life

I rant. A lot. It's like my thing to get irked by something--usually people I feel are incompetent or deliberately rude. I think I need to find a constructive--and preferably profitable--outlet for my outpourings. I'd like to be so well known for my rants that when I enter an establishment, workers start sweating and falling over themselves to attend to my whims. It'd be like being a food critic who gets all the best and largest portions only it'd be for everything from state run facilities to customer service at the local department store. I think that would be my dream job. Alas, until I find a way to be paid for my rants, I'll have to settle for ranting on my blog for all of you. I'll think of it as my bit of service to the community to warn you away from places on my X list. It could be like the opposite of Oprah's Favorite Things list. So here's my latest rant.

I ran what I thought would be a five minute errand to return a pair of shoes I'd recently purchased from Marshalls. I had bought 2 pairs of sandals for Jarom (while he was blessedly at home with daddy since I had spent 3 hours with both boys the day before searching for sandals) that were labeled size 6 but were about 2 cm. apart in length. Non-uniform sizing of children's items is a whole other rant in itself so I'll try not to get distracted. Anyhow, I figured one of them would fit him and I'd return the other. Simple, right?

Well, the larger 6 fit him very loosely and he couldn't even shove his foot into the other size 6. So the kids and I took it back and was happily surprised by the lack of line in the customer service line. Only later do I realize it's because most people must simply not have the fortitude to go head to head with customer service for half an hour.

I hand the girl the shoes (with tag still attached with that plastic ring thing) and the original receipt. She looks over the sandals, gives me a suspicious glare and declares that these sandals have been worn. A bit shocked, I tell her that my son has never worn them because they didn't fit and she stares at me and insists they've been worn so I can't return them. So she finds some other worker elsewhere and explains that there's a woman saying the shoes haven't been worn when they really have been. Now I've got 2 girls glaring at me.

I take off Jarom's sandal (who then freaks out at the indignity) and show it to them, telling them that I bought these 2 pairs of shoes as listed on the receipt and that clearly if the larger one fit then there's no way the smaller one would have fit in order for my son to wear them anywhere. Instead of apologizing to me for the accusations, they go and get 2 other workers. Now 4 workers are gathered around these sandals all insisting that they've been worn. I'm getting pretty ticked and am proud of myself for keeping my cool but there's no way I'm backing down now.

That's it. Gauntlet down.

I would have stayed there till closing to get back my $20. After I tell them that this is exactly the condition in which I purchased them, the workers all agree that there's no way these sandals would be priced at $20. One goes to look for others like them and eventually returns to say they're on clearance for $10. I put my foot down. I don't care if they're $10 now, the price tag and the receipt say $20 so I'm expecting to get the full amount back.

"These aren't $20, ma'am. Those other sandals must have been the $20 ones. Let me look at the receipt. See, these ones must be the $15 ones." Okay, now they're accusing me of, what, magically removing the plastic ring from one shoe to the other?

"I'm sorry, it didn't occur to me that I'd have to bring the original tags for the shoes my son is wearing. Aren't there item numbers on the receipt? Look, 200453 on the receipt next to the $20 sandals and look, 200453 on the price tag attached to the sandals. We've got a match."

Now they just mumble amongst themselves and look at the receipt while I silently fume and try to keep Keahi from climbing all over the stroller. At last, they admit defeat and one girl asks if I want cash or credit back on my card. Transaction completed and without an apology or a have a nice day they walk away. I clutch my intangible $20 credit in my victorious fist and leave that place for good. I had eyed a winter jacket on the way in, but now there's no way I'm going back there.

Marshalls is on my X list.