More than once I've quoted Catherine Aird’s line
from her Inspector Sloan novels on this blog: “If you can’t be a good example,
then you’ll have to serve as a horrible warning.” Consider me your walking,
talking (and increasingly exasperated) horrible warning today. Do not—repeat, DO
NOT—ever shop for major appliances at Best Buy.
As chronicled in my two previous posts (links here
and here), my refrigerator saga has become the stuff of personal
legend. The latest chapter unfolded on Saturday, March 14, when the third (and
fingers-crossed final) delivery was scheduled to swap out the dented disaster
they dropped off initially.
The delivery window? Classic 1 PM to 5 PM, which, as I've learned the hard way,
is code for “anytime up to 6 PM, if you're lucky.” You clear your schedule,
hover near the door like a nervous host, and pray nothing derails your day.
Lunch? Dinner? Forget it. The moment you sit down with a sandwich, the doorbell
will ring and you'll spend the next two hours watching your food turn into a
sad, room-temperature science experiment.
This time I got clever—or so I thought. I emptied the freezer contents into my
ancient 1979 Kenmore in the laundry room, and only partially emptied the
refrigerator contents, moving them to the fridge downstairs (my knees are still
complaining about the multiple trips), but left the fridge section mostly
intact. Everything went into the crispers and door bins for quick removal. When
the crew arrived, I'd just pop out the bins and drawers, transfer them to the
counter, and slide them right back into the new one. Brilliant efficiency,
right?
They even gave me a tracking link and a name: Marlon, ETA 2:20 PM. Perfect. I
could reclaim my afternoon. Then the updates started rolling in: 2:35… 3:00…
3:15… By 3:28 the site cheerfully declared “Delivery Completed.” Except it
wasn't. My dented fridge was still mocking me from the kitchen, and the new one
was nowhere in sight.
I called customer service. They transferred me to the delivery company. The rep
assured me it was “still in transit” and would arrive within the 1–5 PM window.
Sure.
At 4:37 PM my Ring doorbell lit up. Heart racing, I sprinted (as much as one can sprint) to the door and flung it open—only to greet an Amazon driver with a small package. No fridge. The window closed.
At 5:27 PM Ring was at it again, as was I, filled with hope, only to find a neighbor on my doorstep who handed me a piece of misdelivered mail.
I vented on Twitter (still refusing to call it X), tagging Best Buy with a concise summary of the fiasco. They responded almost instantly—apologies galore, promises to investigate. An hour and a half later: confirmation that, yep, it wasn't happening today. Entire Saturday wasted. Still staring at the dented fridge. No new delivery date in sight. Even Best Buy seems baffled at this point.
At 4:37 PM my Ring doorbell lit up. Heart racing, I sprinted (as much as one can sprint) to the door and flung it open—only to greet an Amazon driver with a small package. No fridge. The window closed.
At 5:27 PM Ring was at it again, as was I, filled with hope, only to find a neighbor on my doorstep who handed me a piece of misdelivered mail.
I vented on Twitter (still refusing to call it X), tagging Best Buy with a concise summary of the fiasco. They responded almost instantly—apologies galore, promises to investigate. An hour and a half later: confirmation that, yep, it wasn't happening today. Entire Saturday wasted. Still staring at the dented fridge. No new delivery date in sight. Even Best Buy seems baffled at this point.
As a consequence of all of this, I have invented the “Don't Shop at Best Buy
Cocktail.” Heavy on the bitters, naturally. Maybe a splash of regret and a
twist of shattered expectations. Come back tomorrow for the recipe.
Cheers to lessons learned the hard way.
Please share far and wide.
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