We asked Target to send us 60lbs of wood and an Allen wrench in July. In return they took our money and spent the next 3 months dicking around not mailing it. But the internets say it’ll be sitting on our front porch when we get home for either the dog to mangle or the neighbors to steal. The G’s been tracking the order every 15 minutes, which so far has only led to an irate 36 hour period where she stomped around the house demanding to know why the package was sent Ontario, Canada after already spending a day in California. (Hint: there’s an Ontario, California.)
She’s also convinced that it was her series of nasty letters that goosed Target into finally getting off its lazy Mossimoed ass and putting this pile of lumber into the mail. She is wrong. Unlike my crazy rants about frivolous things to faceless companies that go unanswered, she expects satisfaction. I understand that any communication will expediently get the disgruntled customers nowhere.
The real problem, and I am convinced this is true, was that our delivery originated in a certain Asian nation that held the Super Bowl-sized sporting event known as the Olympics. Between July and the closing ceremonies we received only two halfhearted emails from Target – one thanking us for the order and one that effectively said they had no idea when it would be shipped but thanks for the check and, uh we’re also canceling your free shipping so you owe us an additional $49.99. But as soon as Jimmy Page stumbled off that bus and the torch was sent to its shame in London –WANG! – emails aplenty. “Sorry about that $49.99 thing. Also, do you like merino?”
I don’t know if ours was a factory that was shut down to allow those baby athletes stop complaining but if I was Target, that’s the excuse I would have given. It would have been a much better customer service ploy than the electronic shrug of the shoulders or months of silence they ended up feeding us.