After driving for three days with only quick stops to get some sleep, we finally roll into Frisco, Texas. It feels great to stretch our legs a bit and walk into the place we'll call home for the next month or so. What doesn't feel so great? The thought of having to sleep on the floor until our furniture arrives sometime in the next week.
You might be wondering why I didn't plan ahead and bring something to sleep on so I wouldn't have to make an eleventh hour run to a store in a strange city. And, you'd be right in your wondering.
Allow me to explain. I drove from LA to Dallas in a Mazda Protege with my mom, 4 chihuahuas, 3 violins, two iMacs, a million bottles of water, a fold-out foam mattress from Costco, and enough clothes, toiletries and food to last us through the drive and then several days in our new home until the movers arrive with the rest of our stuff. So, I did think ahead, but there really was no more room to fit anything else in my little car.
But I digress.
I drop off my mom and the dogs at the house and make a beeline to the nearest Walmart to see what they have in the way of foam mats, something similar to what I brought with me from LA.
Sorry, Walmart haters, I always thought of Walmart as old faithful. I could find what I need, not be price gouged and get through the check out line pretty quickly. I say "I thought" because, well, you'll see.
I walk the aisles and find nothing appropriate. I mean nothing. I'm ready to drop from exhaustion and starting to make friends with the prospect of spending that night on the floor. I'm planning to try my luck at Costco the next day. But then I see the camping department. Ah, the light at the end of the tunnel! There, I find several shelves full of air beds! Never having owned an air bed, I choose the only one that has a name I recognize - Coleman. Unfortunately, more decisions need to be made - what size of bed, what thickness? Should I buy one with a pump included ? If not, which brand of pump to get? At this point, I am mucho overwhelmedo. I hadn't bargained for this.
The longer I think about it, the more convinced I become that buying an air bed is a spectacular idea. Maybe the best idea I've ever had. I mean, literally DOZENS of California friends have promised to visit (you know who you are and you better come!), An air bed will be just the thing that will take my hosting to the next level, a step beyond normal hosting, if you will. I'm gonna go all out. Well, as all out as I am willing to go on a glorified pool floaty.
With great satisfaction, I select the Coleman queen size, double thick mattress with a soft flocking and an included electric pump! It does briefly occur to me that I am about to spend $75 (plus tax!) on a length of plastic and a tiny motorized air filler-upper. But then I reason with myself, as I am often wont to do.
"Look, how often are you going to buy an air bed? You should get a nice one that your guests will enjoy for years to come!"
My gaze drifts to the middle distance and I have visions of myself waking up to the sun shining, the birds singing and the beaming smiles of my grateful friends. They say, "Dallas Doll, that air mattress gave me the best night of sleep I've ever had! It was like floating on the wings of angels!" And I nod graciously as I reply, "I chose the best with you in mind."
I arrive back at the house like a triumphant hunter back from the kill.
"Did you find a foam mat?" mom asks.
"Even better!" I tell her.
I unbox the bed and fill 'er up. It's as easy as 1-2-3. Add a nice, soft sheet, and we have a bed fit for a, well, a queen. I offer it to my mom and take the foam mat.
The next morning, I wake up to see her lying practically on the floor. The bed had lost a bit of air overnight. And, by "a bit", I mean, nearly all. I read the enclosed literature and learn that the air bed is likely to expand over the course of a few hours, and will only APPEAR to be losing air. Fair enough.
The next night, I pump that baby full of air. I feel sure that the plastic has done all the stretching it's going to do.
I am wrong.
I find my mom on the floor again. And she won't stop complaining about her rough night of fighting the mattress. The third night, I give the foam mat to my mom, pump yet more air into the Coleman and lie down on it. I wake up some time in the middle of the night to find myself trapped between two walls of plastic rising up on either side of me. It's like the parting of the Red Sea. This air bed thing definitely isn't going as planned.
So, I roll up the bed, try to fit it as well as I can into the box and put it in my trunk. It takes me a few days to get back to Walmart. When I finally make it, it's on a day that my mom and I are driving around, taking care of the million details that have to be attended to when you move your life halfway across the country. I leave her sitting in the car and tell her that I'll be back in a few minutes.
The words "famous last words" come to mind.
I explain to the lady at the returns desk that the mattress simply refuses to hold enough air to make it a viable bed. She looks at the receipt I hand her and says, "When did you buy it?" I resist the urge to tell her that she holds the information right in her very own hands. Instead, I say, "about a week ago." She looks at the date on the receipt and starts counting on her fingers. Yes, she does. "Ok," she says, "you're under the 15 day limit."
Fifteen days? Really? I thought I had at least a month, but ok, no problem. I've got a receipt, I'm within the required time frame and I have a defective product.
She can offer me an exchange for the same product, or a different one, provided that it's the same price OR MORE. Coincidentally, my gaze falls on a familiar looking box behind her. It looks familiar because it's the SAME EXACT BED THAT I'M RETURNING. I ask her about this and she says, "No, that one's different." I can see from where I am that it's the same, I'd be willing to bet a million dollars on it. So I ask her to go back there and take a look. With great reluctance, she does. Fast forward a few minutes while she fumbles with the box, until I prompt her to read aloud the item number. It's the same one as on my box. There's a white note stuck to the box she is holding, and I ask her to tell me what it says.
"It's got a hole in it."
Let me get this straight. I just happen to return an air bed that is the SAME ONE as another that is returned to the SAME STORE ON THE SAME DAY? What are the odds? I point this out to her, and she doesn't think that it's strange at all. She still offers me an exchange. I'm seriously having second thoughts about my great air mattress idea. I'm thinking, these things are cheaply made and obviously don't hold up. Why would I want to get another one? She says to me, "then you should get another brand, but it has to be the same price or more."
I look up at the return policy posted on the wall behind her.
Easy to read, right? Here, let me help you out:
Still no good? Ok, that bottom line reads: 15 days with receipt: blah blah blah, and Air beds.
Ok, so, I have a receipt and it's within 15 days, if you can't return my money, how about a gift card?
"No," she says, "I can only offer you the same or more expensive air bed."
"Where does it say that?" I ask her.
She is silent. Then she comes up with this:
"It's our policy. I have it in a book."
Ok, time out. First of all, when making a purchase, who the hell first walks over to read the return policy posted on a wall that is nowhere near a cash register? And, secondly, that very same return policy states nothing about an exchange only, no refund.
I say this last part to her. She again refers to the book with the policy that employees must adhere to. Unfortunately, she can't find this book. I try to reason with her. I say, "Look, I've kind of lost faith in this whole air bed thing, but I'm super willing to be a good sport, and I will happily take a gift card. Walmart will still keep my money, and I will walk away knowing that I didn't just throw $75 down a hole." Ha! A hole. Now that's ironic. Or is it?
"I can only offer you an exchange for the same air bed or another one that costs more. Or, you can deal directly with the manufacturer."
I ask to speak to a manager.
One arrives and we have an exact replay of the situation I just described. At this point, I'm angry and I just can't let the situation go. I'm trying to fight off the feeling that I've somehow become trapped in a lesser-known Kafka tale.
She calls another woman over, who I learn is a loss prevention specialist. I'm now wondering if they think I'm trying to pull a fast one on them.
The loss prevention specialist, the manager and the customer service lady talk about the situation as though I'm not there, and my interjections are ignored. Did I mention that I'm angry? Still, I'm not yelling at them, just passionately stating my case. I point to the policy on the wall behind them and once again say that it doesn't state anything about an exchange only.
The loss prevention specialist says, "The exchange only policy is posted on the shelf where you got the bed."
No, it isn't. And if it is, it is hidden so well that a casual observer will not see it.
The loss prevention specialist walks away. She apparently has more important matters to attend to. It's now down to the manager and me. We go back and forth for a while more, then the customer service lady presents the magical policy book. And there, they show me, in black and white, why their hands are tied.
She helpfully puts an asterisk and parenthesis around the relevant parts. The secret policy that the unsuspecting customer must adhere to compels a face palm and I silently ask myself how much of my life I am willing to throw away on this issue. Answer? Not a minute more.
Not being familiar with the store, and having been super tired when I had purchased the bed, I ask the manager where I should go to find a replacement. She points this way and that, and then I finally just ask her to take me to it.
She leads me to a part of the store that I know I didn't get my air bed from. I say, "I got mine from the camping supply aisle." "Yeah," she says, "those aren't good. These ones are better."
????????????
We can't find one that is equivalent to the one I returned. I again bring up the absurdity of having a return policy that the customer is unaware of, and finally, she gives.
"You know, I wish they would just stop carrying these things. We keep getting them returned. But, there's nothing I can do. Walmart doesn't get their money back for defective returned air beds, so I can't give you a refund. I wish I could. I'd be mad too, if I were in your place."
Hold up. Walmart doesn't get its money back for defective merchandise that has a history of high returns, yet CONTINUES TO CARRY THE PRODUCT?
Am I supposed to feel sorry for Walmart?
Walmart, a MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR company, is more concerned with keeping my measly $75 (it's not measly to me, these things are relative) than it is with conducting itself with integrity and maintaining good business practices? Walmart is content with losing a loyal customer and HIGHLY VOCAL SUPPORTER (even against the persistent arguments of beloved friends) over a product that its own managers can't get behind?
Again, Walmart haters, bear with me. I was blind, but now I see.
I decide to put us both out of our misery and take a smaller mattress made by a different manufacturer with a higher price tag, and I ask the manager if she will discount the extra three or four dollars so that it's just an even exchange.
"That, I can do," she says, visibly relieved.
So, I take my new mattress, put it in my trunk and there it still sits, unopened and unseen.
Because, of course, if I open it and it is unsatisfactory, I can't return it for a refund. It says so. Right there in the employee policy book.
