I am writing to you to express my frustration regarding a recent experience at your Dayville, CT store #8710. I'm really not the type of person that complains about these things. Restaurants routinely bring me completely different meals than I have ordered, and I just keep quiet and eat it, because I know that the waitress has probably worked harder in the last hour than I will in a month. Every single morning when I go to Dunkin' Donuts, the contents of the bag they hand me are literally a complete mystery, I don't even know why sesame seeds on a bagel are a thing, never-mind why they decided that's what I wanted, and I genuinely don't care, and I go back there every single morning and pay them to put some various food in a bag, even though there's another Dunkin' Donuts right down the street, because I don't like change, and sometimes one of the girls compliments my eye makeup and it makes my day.
What I'm trying to say is that I feel like a jerk for writing a letter, but what started as a mildly frustrating encounter that could have been resolved by an apology, turned into a really frustrating encounter that I've been ranting about in my head all evening, and I just want someone to care.
On the evening of November 24th, I purchased a sewing machine. This was exciting for me because I had been contemplating purchasing a sewing machine for awhile now, but was waiting for a good enough reason. I had also just recently purchased some fabric and thread and assorted decorative notions under the guise of potentially sewing it into something, until I remembered that I didn't have the attention span or motivation to make a series of hand stitches at an agonizingly slow rate, only to have them fall out later because I don't actually know how to stitch things... but I didn't want my crafting supplies to go to waste. So in the spirit of industrial revolutions, I remembered that they made machines that would sew things for you, and even though I knew I would never actually use that either, I just wanted to be the type of woman that owned a sewing machine and could potentially sew things if properly motivated. I also had clipped a coupon from a flyer that morning, and I almost never actually do anything with coupons except let them get crumpled up in my purse like some sort of creepy hamster bedding for my wallet. I was overcome with pride for my new sense of responsibility, and had to celebrate by buying a sewing machine... and a shopping cart full of glittery things that I passed on the way to the sewing machine.
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| This is what I'll look like when I sew. |
I happened to know that there was one sewing machine at my local Michael's. We don't have much in the way of shopping centers around here, so I didn't bother to comparison shop. I had looked at the sewing machine before, and I remembered that it was somewhere in the vicinity of $50. I had a 50% off coupon, so it would be irresponsible to not get a sewing machine for $25. I don't know how much sewing machines cost, but somewhere in my head I probably knew that $50 was really cheap for a sewing machine, but I had never actually priced them out before, as their individual functions and differences were a complete mystery to me, so I was content with my ignorance. I went to the back where I had seen it before, picked up the only sewing machine that I had ever seen there, and confirmed that the price was $44.99. Just to do my due diligence, I scanned the isle to make sure that this was the correct price. To the left, there was a wall of magnifying glasses, and there was a floor standing one that was $99.99, and it was marked as such. To the right were inexpensive sewing notions. The description on the price tag said "Easy Stitcher Sewing Machine". The product I was purchasing was a Singer Tradition model 2259. Apparently, "Easy Stitcher" is an actual brand, but I am not the type of person that knows the intricacies of the automated sewing industry. I had to take it to my mom's house on Thanksgiving to find out that sewing machines used thread from TWO different places, which is why I was so confused trying to set it up. As far as I knew, "Easy Stitcher" was being used as an adjective, and not a proper noun. The point is that there was exactly one sewing machine, and exactly one price tag that referenced a sewing machine in it's description. There were no empty spaces for other models, and no indication to the casual shopper that this was not the product I was purchasing.
I brought the display box up front, and the cashier (who, just to even out my karma for writing an angry letter, was very friendly and nice) paged to have someone bring it up for him. The lady that went to get it, who, unbeknownst to me, would also be the lady that got me so frustrated today, said "Make sure she knows that she can't use a coupon for it" over her shoulder with a hint of annoyance in her voice. I don't know how she knew I wanted to use a coupon, because as I previously mentioned, I almost never use coupons, however, I also almost never read coupons in their entirety, and as I pulled my coupon out, I was disappointed to read that sewing machines were excluded. That was my mistake, and not what this letter is about. I just wanted to set the scene for the series of disappointments that would surround this purchase. (The coupon did, however, save me $4.80 on a pair of scissors I was getting, so all was not in vain.)
Once the (very friendly) cashier rang me up, I saw that the sewing machine was actually $99.99. They were almost closing, and the cashier was genuinely friendly. He really seemed like he was in a great mood, and I didn't want to ruin it by being an annoying customer right before close. I was wrong about the coupon, I must have been wrong about the price too, right? It stands to reason. I also am a gigantic wimp. Which is why I quietly handed over my credit card and mentally panicked about how my $25 responsible person purchase turned into a $99 plus fancy scissors plus glittery things and tax purchase right before Christmas. But I justified it by imagining all the things I was going to sew now that I was an official crafty person. I had set out for a sewing machine, and I wanted to come home with a sewing machine.
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| Now I can focus on making glittery felt bird houses! |
Over the next week and a half (during which I did not sew one thing), I kept mulling it over. I really felt like I was right in my price assessment. Maybe I didn't read coupons, but I was observant when it came to bargains. I had checked the price tag. There was totally no other sewing machines there, because if there had been, I would have spent a half half sitting on the floor trying to figure out the difference. There was no other price tags for anything even close. Maybe that was a clearance price and it just rang up wrong. I needed bobbins (apparently), and even though my sewing machine could thread bobbins (apparently) for me, my mom had already threaded that part for me and I didn't want to go backwards. And I wanted to sew things. Since the bobbins just happened to be next to the sewing machine, I also would get a second chance to examine that price tag.
Upon further inspection, I felt even more vindicated. There were no other price tags. I was still blissfully ignorant that "Easy Stitcher" was not a description of a traditional sewing machine. But there were no other price tags that were more than $44.99. Anywhere. I scoured the box and confirmed that there was nothing contradicting it, and there wasn't. There were no other sewing machines. I got my bobbins and my nerves and I talked to the friendly cashier. I showed him a picture I had taken on my phone. Technically, the UPC didn't match the box, however, in my defense, there was a whole bunch of numbers on the bar code and on the box, and I didn't know what they all were, so I held out hope that someone would see reason. I honestly wasn't even expecting to get my money back, I just wanted some empathy.
The mean manager from last time walked back with me to the isle. She hurriedly scanned the box there and stated that it was $99.99. I explained to her that I knew the price *now*, but how would I know the price before I was already at the counter and had already made people bring it out. She told me that the Easy Stitcher was a cheaper machine, and pointed to a small box on top of the aisle on the other side, up with the overstock and mostly covered up. "See? Easy Stitcher." But now I was just trying to prove a point. I don't work here, I don't know their inventory, I had never seen this machine before in all of my visits, and I would have no reason to believe there would be other machines. I told her that there's not a spot for it there, and she said that was because holiday things moved things around. I told her that it had been like this for awhile, and she told me that it probably would be as well, because they don't have the space to stock all these big things. I sympathized with the space problem, but the Easy Stitcher was a comparatively small box. The store carries TWO sewing machines, one of which was a complete surprise to me. I could see if there was an aisle full of sewing machines, that they might not have every model out, but, they have TWO, and they'd rather keep 20 (seriously, I counted, 20!) magnifying glass varieties next to the sewing machine then just move something over an inch to put a display box for a second one? And still, the Singer machine had no price tags on it, and no space for a price tag. There was no sticky goo leftover on the shelf where a price tag had even been ripped off from. There was one sewing machine, one price tag for a sewing machine. If space was an issue, why wouldn't you put the sewing machine that is for sale with the price, and keep the other one up in your secret sewing machine stash space? The tension was escalating, because now she was arguing with me not about whether or not there would be a refund, but she was actually defending this illogical product layout, and making me feel unreasonable for bringing it to their attention that this was really confusing. I hadn't even requested a refund. If she had taken out a sharpie and written "$99" in big, messy handwriting on the display box, I would have walked out of there content that I made a difference. But she was defending the placement and implying that she had no intention of changing it. "But how would I know it was $99?" I asked, still calm and thinking that at any moment she would be able to empathize with me, a paying customer (who sometimes uses coupons), that was not in on the inner workings of stocking levels and store space. She looked at me like I was an idiot and snapped back "Uhm, it rings up as $99, you could have just asked someone!" "Yes, but, I don't have a price gun to know it would scan any differently, why would...", "You could ask someone to scan it for you, we don't have the money to have price scanners for customers."
At this point I was on the verge of tears because I have daddy issues and I don't like confrontation. Had I known that I was going to have to be the ambassador for sanity tonight, I probably would have gone on another night armed with research papers regarding customer service and price tag economics. But it was getting late, and I was either going to start crying over a sewing machine, or throw down in an aisle full of sharp things over a sewing machine. I gave her my most passive aggressive sigh, and informed her of my intentions to write a letter, because I just think this whole encounter is ridiculous. She chuckled and said that if I felt that strongly about it, that I should write a letter, and maybe they'd be able to get a new scanner out of it. (I'd like to note that scanner or no scanner, I would have never thought to scan the box before bringing it up, because the issue is that I have no obligation to pre-scan all my merchandise before purchasing it to verify that the store didn't keep secret alternate versions of the item stowed away under pillow foam overstock. Please don't send them a scanner, because I'm being spiteful, and if I'm not happy, I don't want them to be either.)
I can't even express how frustrating this was. I've written 2,200 words so far, and even if I double that, I don't think I can adequately describe the way it feels when something is wrong and nobody cares. She wasn't even going to put a sticker on the box with the correct price, or move the other box down on top of it's price tag. This is how she wants to sell sewing machines! I was ranting about this to my friend, who didn't quite understand that this wasn't about the sewing machine, this was about global malaise and a lack of empathy in society, and he joked with me that I would feel bad if I somehow got this woman fired by writing this letter. Well, first of all, I don't want you to fire her, it's right before Christmas and I'm sure she has many redeeming qualities. Secondly, I argue that if businesses continue to operate like this, she'll eventually be unemployed anyway! The consumer industry is rapidly changing, and big box stores are still struggling to find their place in this economy. The current retail business model can't support retail "showrooms" only to lose the customer to the lowest price online. If paying $44.99 for a sewing machine was really that importantly, I guarantee that 15 minutes on Amazon, I could shop hundreds of models, compare features, read reviews, and have it shipped to my house in 2 days for free. And I'm struggling to explain why I even leave my house to go shopping at all anymore, after all, none of this would have happened if I had purchased online. The only thing tying me to wanting to buy this in a store is the emotional feedback of having something now, but I want my patronage appreciated in some way. Is this store really so financially comfortable that customer retention and word of mouth and customer satisfaction are really no longer important to them? She was an older manager, not an ambivalent teenager making minimum wage that has no financial incentive to do well. Her livelihood is tied to the store doing well, and it's just bad business. People make emotional shopping decisions, and I would have liked her to see the bigger picture and acknowledged that it wasn't about the price of the sewing machine, it was about not wanting to feel like that customer that enjoys arguing about trivial details. I enjoyed no part of this. All this could have been over with if she had just given me a pat on the back and told me that she sees how it could be confusing. But instead I was made to feel like the crazy person getting riled up over a price tag. It wasn't the price tag, it was for justice and humanity and the future of retail transactions. I was trying to save her job, not make it harder.
In closing, I'm still going to shop at Michael's, because they always have fantastic sales, and I can never have too many decorative photo boxes. I will still eagerly hand over my money under the pretense that I am making an investment in a project that's going to validate me as a woman. But I'm going to give that lady the stink eye every time I go in, and I'm going to make a point of walking back to that sewing machine aisle even though I know it's going to make me really grumpy, and my boyfriend is going to have to listen to this story every single time I drag him in there, until somebody puts a price tag on that stupid box.
Thank you for your time. Happy holidays!
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