Damaged Goods

          I have an aversion to trying on clothes in stores.  The lights in the dressing rooms are hideously bright and herculean efforts to suck in the tummy, pull up the ribcage and look like you did 20 years ago, fall by the wayside.  So my usual system is to pick out a few garments, take them home and hope they fit.  Of course if I’ve conned myself into thinking that the two days I ate only cardboard and broccoli stumps have dropped me down at least a dress size, there are obvious garment returns in my future

          I was thinking along these lines as I fumbled through the sale rack at Macy’s the other day.  And that of course got me thinking about the times I’ve had to return items that were damaged or just didn’t fit and the hoops I sometimes had to jump through to be reimbursed.

          There was a time I’d bought a packet of three pairs of knickers from a chain store.  Three pairs for $6…what a deal!  The packet was sealed, and a sign on the product table warned that packets were not to be opened under pain of death.  Also, having escaped death, you’d better not even think of returning anything in the intimate apparel department anyway because the resulting leg irons would be uncomfortable.  Okay, I understood that, of course.  No one wants to buy another person’s used underwear, right?  Not a problem.

          However, once home with my new, silk-like material knickers, I discovered that two of them had inch wide runs right down the back.  My bum would certainly be feeling a draught in those little babies.  So, back to the store with my packet of panties.

Now, one might wonder why bother for an item that cost a measly $6.  But it was the principle of the thing.  If the store wanted to assign rules to the purchase of their stuff, they should at least back up their rules with unmarred goods and a little common sense.  My logical argument being that, since the knickers were so damaged as to be useless, therefore unsaleable to anyone else, the ‘no returns on intimate apparel’ rule shouldn’t apply.  The sales assistant didn’t agree.

          ‘See the sign?’ she pointed to the large poster plastered on the wall.

          ‘Yep.’

          ‘What’s it say?’

          ‘Doesn’t matter what it says.  These knickers have runs in them so you can’t sell them to anyone else anyway.’

          ‘You shoulda checked ‘em out before youse bought ‘em then.’

          ‘Couldn’t.’  I pointed to the sign on the table.  ‘See the sign?’

          ‘Are youse bein’ smart then?’

          ‘No,’ I sighed.  ‘Just frustrated.’

          It was obvious that our conversation was going to continue in circles with the sales assistant holding her ground and me pointing out that her ground was very muddy.  Even a call for the manager produced little joy.  She too kept pointing to the signs.

          I eventually wrote a strong letter of complaint to the corporate office…again, it was the principle of the thing!

          Several weeks later I was summoned from my office to the front desk where a gentleman carrying a rather large suitcase greeted me.  He was from the chain store’s corporate office and had been instructed to offer me six packets of knickers of my choice and of course free of charge.  And with that he threw open the suitcase and presented me with a dazzling array of knickers…all styles and colors.   Wow, eighteen pairs of knickers for what was the original price of $6!  I was more than pleased to acquiesce to the gentleman’s request.

          I have to wonder though…what kind of job description is it that has men walking around town carrying suitcases full of colored knickers?  But I’m not complaining…if customers have to obey dumb signs, then Dispenser of Colored Knickers should be a job category at every chain store's corporate office.