Now why does that title make me think of Chris Farley?  This is a rather random post to detail my cosmic fucking of two days ago when I tried to simply purchase a new washing machine online.

[Throat Clearing–to be dramatic and also because I have a cold]

To begin this post, I’ll take it from the top and recommend that no one ever purchase a Kenmore Oasis Washing machine from Sears (or ANYTHING from Sears, for that matter).  That tremendous, hulking POS has been limping along for the five years since we purchased it.  And that is even after we paid to install a brand new mother (fucker) board exactly one day (give or take) after the one year warranty expired.

So, after that metal turd refused to turn off the other day (related to some imaginary suds it couldn’t seem to rinse off) and it smelled of burning plastic, we finally decided it was time.  That was Thursday.  On Saturday, my old man was stressing about life, in general, and the ginormous to-do list he had, in particular.  I, being the kind-hearted person that I am (and also one who didn’t want to hear his shit) decided to handle the washing machine purchase all on my own.

Now, hubby’s pal had given him a 10% off coupon to Lowe’s, so we had determined that we would buy one from there.  Basically, anything but Sears was the plan, but the price was right…

And I was going to do it online because that’s how I shop.  No lines.  No annoying sales people.  No dragging kids with…you get my drift.  That’s how I roll.

So, I hop online and read reviews and pick a machine without too much searching.  Hell, I hemmed and hawed and scouted for days for the last hunk of junk–the seat of my pants seemed the way to go, here.  Kinda like going with your first gut instinct on a test question you’re unsure about.  It’s usually right, right?

Anyway, I instant message a customer service person to ensure that the delivery guys will take the smoking crap-box from Sears.  The uber-polite Wesley I contacted told me they would.  And would I like him to call in the order for me?  No, thanks, I say.  I want to shop around a little.

After a bit more surfing, I threw a front door lock and handle in my cart (since we could use a new one).  It was sort of like grabbing a pack of gum when you’re checking out at the grocery store.  Sure, I could use one of those.  It’s on sale with my coupon and dammit, gum is delicious.

Well, I had nearly placed my order when I was disturbed by a cranky husband.  I got up to slam some dishes around (always good to be by the butcher-block when you want to look threatening).  After I did about ten minutes of random angry cleaning, I realized I must complete that order so we can soon wash some of our laundry that is threatening to take over the world.

I go to complete the process.

The website informs me, in effect, that even home maintenance sites need work on occasion…ha ha, so clever.  Try again later, sucker!

Fuck me!

But, all isn’t lost.  I put the two items in my cart again and try to check out.  The website tells me that the store I originally chose no longer has my washer and I must pick another location.  Fine.  I do that.  Check out once more and this time, SUCCESS!

Hell, yeah!  That felt good.  So I go to my email account to make sure I got a receipt, and lo and behold I find not one, but two receipts.

Fuck me again!

I call customer service.  Thankfully, I don’t wait too long on hold.  The lovely Southern drawl-rockin’ lady listens to my problem and kindly cancels the second order.  While I’m talking to her my phone beeps and it’s the first store.  Calling to confirm, I’m sure, as I was told they would.  I don’t click over, of course.  I listen to the message after I’m done straightening this cluster-fuck up with Scarlet O’Hara.

Here is the message: “This is the B_____Lowe’s calling to inform you that we only have two display models of the washer you ordered, so we can’t send you one.  You’ll have to order from the W_______Lowe’s.”

Now I’m starting to lose it just a little.  I may have shouted some expletives (at a safe distance from my children’s ears, of course).  I just cancelled an order from the freakin’ W Lowe’s!

I call the woman back and she tells me that online shopping is not always the best bet.  Chuckle.  Sorry!  Also, she cancelled the order from her end.

Back on the ever-lovin’ Lowe’s website I go.  I put the fuckin’ machine in my cart AGAIN only to find it isn’t available at B or W Lowes now, and I have to go with P.  I check out and now my 10% off won’t work because the coupon code police have caught up with me and I used that 10% off to save a hefty $6.66 on my pack of gum.

Now I’m making noises that aren’t really human and my kids are clearing the area because things are looking ugly and their mom is about to sprout tentacles or something.

I call customer service and wait…and wait… and wait.  I try different numbers to get any operator.  Once I sink my claws in, I won’t let go and SOMEONE will fix this BS.  I consider pressing numero dos para Espanol, but I’ll only tell the operator to come and pick up his drunken whore of a mother and wash his crab-infested pubic hair before I pay him for sex.  My Spanish is pretty rusty.  Or maybe I’ll just do it on purpose and blame it on rusty Spanish because now I’m definitely tearing up as I wait…and wait…and listen to one hit wonders from ten years ago coming to me from somewhere under the Bible belt.

Finally I hang up and go back online and type a two paragraph explanation as to why I will probably be found wandering naked in Times Square with a severed limb cradled like a baby in one arm and a bottle of Tide in the other.  Before I hit send I copy it.

Yeah, I’m on to you now, Oh Shitastic Hand I’ve Been Dealt for the Day.

I then press send and the computer is all “SORRY!  We had a glitch!! 🙂  Rainbows and smiles while we cram it up there a little higher!  Shop at Lowes!  Tell your friends!”

And I’m all “TOUCHE, Cock sucker!” and I paste and send again!   Can you feel that, Lowes?  Cause I just stuck it back to you right there.  HAH!  It was a kind of hollow victory but I was riding a series of Lowe’s (get it, lows?).

And then, glory be, it works!  Because I caught fate blatantly fucking with me and when you stare that bitch down, she turns tale and finds someone else who isn’t paying attention, and needs a new lawnmower.

And who should respond to my IM?  Why, the delightful Wesley, who offered to complete my purchase two hours ago.  I love irony.  Wesley smoothed it all over just as fine as you please.  He called me up to finalize the payment details and of course he was a peaches and cream with his velvet Southern drawl.  And he made my 10% off work like magic.

And that, folks, is that.  Until Sunday, when we got a call saying it would be delivered between 1 and 3.  Wesley told me Monday, I informed the woman when I called back to confirm.  Nope.  Sunday.  So my hubby stayed home from our daughter’s piano recital to receive the machine that never came.  It was probably one of my cancelled washers.  Tee Hee.

Well, for the happy ending, my cool new washer came today.  It is whisper quiet like the breeze through the magnolia trees in Wesley’s back yard.  I’ve washed two loads already, and I am nowhere near caught up.

So that’s it, until it starts acting up.  Now come get your mother.  Yo tengo mucho ropa sucia para limpiar y ella huele como un pescado viejo.

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