Several people have asked me how the marathon training is going, and I have to say, it WAS going fine until the belt on the treadmill started shifting to one side (a problem that a Sears repairman had been out to fix before), then suddenly flipped itself over. That’s not safe! Don't run on that!
And so began the Ballad of Sears, the Treadmill, and the Icy Driveway. Oh, and yes– I'm aware of the fact that this is one of those "White Girl Problems," like when you're on the airplane and the wireless doesn't work and you get all mad, but hey, it's my blog, and I feel that I need to tell you about this morass of bureaucracy I'm caught in, because it's bordering on the absurd, and this is the place for that.
First, the repairman came back to tell us there was nothing he could do (thanks!), that he’d have to order a new belt, that this would probably take two weeks, and if we called about this same problem twice before, maybe we should take it up with the corporate office.
Side note—exercise helps me not be so aggravated all the time, so I’m sure you can just imagine how surly I’ve been lately with the treadmill broken and the ridiculously cold weather making it so I can’t run, or walk, or do anything that might take the edge off my undercurrent of internal rage. Feel for the repairman and the delivery guys, really.
Being the voice of reason, Stephan called the store and then I went down there to work something out, and was told that the earliest the treadmill could be replaced was on Sunday the 19th. Fine, I said—FINE, JUST FIX THE PROBLEM. I AM SEETHING OVER HERE.
Then I got three confirmation phonecalls from Sears, making sure that I would be there Sunday afternoon.
Then I waited on Sunday afternoon, and no one came. Apparently the truck broke down because of the weather, and apparently it is not only possible, but common practice for Sears delivery people not only to not call when their delivery is delayed, but to put into the record that they DID CALL, a record that can’t be contradicted by the actual person who did not receive the call.
You know what would totally help me not lose my temper right now?
EXERCISE.
Anyhow, back to Sunday. The delivery guy is late. My head is turning red with Irish rage. Finally the delivery people get there, AND THEY REFUSE TO COME UP THE DRIVEWAY BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH I SHOVELED IT, IT HAS ICE ON IT.
Yep. Ice on the driveway = automatic grounds for “Sears blowing off your delivery.”
Then I call the Sears customer service hotline a million times and yell louder and louder until Stephan has to go in the house to avoid getting rage on him.
Then I demand a list of requirements for the delivery to be completed. How can Sears’ delivery people just be able to make these arbitrary judgment calls, when you know if it was up to them, they wouldn’t even be out driving around in this weather? They get paid by the hour, not by the delivery, so it actually behooves them to blow off as many people as possible.
Then the Sears delivery guys, while trying to blow off my delivery when they are 200 feet from my house, get themselves wedged into a snow drift. This causes me to laugh and not help them, because you know why?
WHEN I DON’T GET ANY EXERCISE I TURN MEAN, DID I MENTION?
Finally the Sears delivery guys get themselves unstuck and drive away still in possession of the new treadmill, and ten minutes later I get a call from a Sears person in Florida, wanting to reschedule my delivery time. I ask her if something has changed, if my driveway suddenly doesn’t have ice on it, or if she is just trying to check me off some arbitrary list of tasks that are in front of her on a computer, and she says “Ma’am, I don’t know—what time do you want?”
I yell about the ice on the driveway. She says “OK, Tuesday,” and hangs up.
Then a non-insane person calls me back from the Sears in Connecticut where the treadmill was purchased, re-assigns me to another day that doesn’t have snow in the forecast, tells me that the Florida office is “her nemesis,” and I spend some more time wondering how Sears is still in business.
But wait! There’s still ice on the driveway! This is a solvable problem, right?
Nope, can’t use that chemical ice melt—got that dog to think about.
Nope, can’t salt it—it’s too firmly packed from driving over it a million times, and besides, you’re supposed to salt BEFORE it ices up, didn’t you know this? What, did you grow up in California or something? Geez.
Nope, can’t pour water on it, because over the weekend it was -11 degrees outside.
Nope, can’t shovel it—it’s FROZEN ICE.
Nope, can’t hit with the shovel. This does nothing.
Let’s put it this way—I went to Home Depot to ask what they would do, and the guy there offered to sell me…
Wait for it….
A FLAME THROWER.
Home Depot guy was like “Yeah—we’ve been selling three or four of these a day, and I know there’s no roofing work going on when it’s -11 degrees outside.”
I don’t even want to get into how bad an idea it is for me to own a flame thrower, and no—I did not buy one. I don’t even like to fry things by myself, ok? Sometimes when I walk, I fall down for no reason. If I were a mob person, my nickname would be “The Muppet.”
NO FLAME THROWER FOR ME.
Bottom line: I shoveled that driveway until I was exhausted, which I guess counts as good exercise though it’s not getting me any closer to that marathon. Please say a little prayer for some tropical rain over the next four days so over the weekend I can get the new treadmill, or by next week there may be another tale of rage and woe for you to enjoy.
