My first hormonal moment of pregnancy (at least recognized) happened at the counter at an R.E.I. in Missoula, Mont., this summer. My sleeping bag’s zipper had broken and they said they couldn’t repair it, only replace it with a different bag. The new version of the bag did not have the same features as my original, and paled in comparison in every aspect imaginable. But how useful is a zero-degree sleeping bag that won’t zip?
While the employee found the original transaction, entered information in for the exchange and rang up the new bag, a lump grew in my throat. “That will be $14 difference,” the man said. “Actually,” I said, my voice getting progressively higher, “I think I’m OK with this one.” I ran out the store hugging my bag, tears streaming down my face. My husband could only shrug apologetically and follow me out the door.
The R.E.I. in Portland, Ore., by the way, does such repairs for free. So the story has a happy ending.
It has been a while since I’ve added — well, anything to this blog — but I have especially neglected my “Poignantly Pathetic Moments” series. I believe the following letter I sent this morning explains it all.
Hello Costco corporate,
I’m writing to let you know that I will never ever ask for another Costco Cash Card as a gift again.
Two months ago my brother-in-law gave us a card, which I tried to activate at the store after a long shopping trip. Little did I know that I would need the shipping-to phone number. It was a gift. Why would anyone buy one for him or herself? After trying several times with phone numbers I thought would work, I called the help center in India (I presume) where after finally reaching a human who said he’d transfer me to someone who could help, the line disconnected after I waited on hold for a bit.
Finally by the grace of your wonderful front floor manager, Jason, of the Arvada, Colo., store, we activated the card. He spent some time on hold as well with the phone representatives. All in all it was a 45-minute ordeal.
I should tell you here that I am a hormonal pregnant lady. Living an hour away, I had my cart filled to the brim and I just wanted to go home after a long day in Denver. I was quite the pathetic picture, crying out of frustration and frayed nerves while the Kirkland chicken breasts slowly reached room temperature in my basket.
Please stop selling Costco Cash cards, as they only bring tears and angst.