Me and General Electric
Two years ago my washer-dryer combination died, and I started researching a replacement. I had a stacked unit; did I have room to replace it with a side-by-side or should I go with another stacked pair? I measured. I measured again. I dithered. My son, Alan, who was a salesman at an appliance story at the time, lost patience and gifted me with another stacked unit that was almost identical with the Kenmore that had served me faithfully for almost ten years. I was duly grateful; it was an unexpected and marvelous gift.
I washed, I dried, for two years and then...
One day another son, John, was in my house when the washer entered its spin cycle and demonstrated its spin cycle's roaring howl. It had been doing that for several months. John looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and said, "You don't think that's going to get any better if you leave it alone, do you?" Well, I didn't, but I knew that getting it repaired would require initiative, and for some reason, I felt singularly unmotivated. I could cite other problems I had dealt with while the washer howled, but none of them seemed like a really good explanation for not dealing with this problem. So the next day I went on line, found the G. E. site, and made an appointment to have a repairman come out.
The repairman's visit was brief. He listened, he opened the front of the machine, he pointed to a knot of machinery, and he said, "You've got a broken gear. I'll order the replacement part, and after you get it, someone will come out and install it. Now, today's visit will be $125.00 or you can pay for my visit when you pay for the installation. In that case, the whole cost will be $449.00." I gulped and said, "I'll wait and pay for everything altogether." I prefer to postpone pain.
Delivery date #1: The repairman said, "O.K. I'm ordering your part. It will take three or four days to arrive so I'll schedule the delivery for next Thursday, March 29th." I looked at my calendar and saw that that date would work well. On the 26th, 27th, and 28th, Liz would be in from Pittsburgh, visiting Joan and me, and I wouldn't want to be at home, waiting for a repairman instead of enjoying Liz' visit. Friday, March 30th, I had long-standing plans to engage in a matzoh-ball making marathon prior to a seder for about fifteen people on Saturday, March 31st.
There was the problem that I might not be home when the part was delivered. If the box was left on my stoop...a box with "G.E." writ large on it...a passerby might tuck it under their arm and take it home to see what kind of goodies it contained. In that case, G.E. would have to send a second part; that would be their problem. I was still using my washer, I'd have to wait until another replacement part arrived and my washer could be repaired. Right? Ri-i-ight.
After Joan dropped me off on our way back from taking Liz to the airport, there was still no sign of a G.E. box. I looked in the carport...the only place a box could be left besides sitting, front and center on my front stoop...no box. Also, no slip from the delivery service saying that delivery had been attempted. Oh well, I thought, it's been delivered to the repairman and he'll bring it tomorrow. I went inside to start dinner.
Delivery date #2: Before I could sit down to eat, I got a call from G.E., pushing back my repair for a week to Thursday, April 5th. I said, "Maybe it was delivered to the repairman, and he'll bring it with him." The answer was no, he doesn't have it, and we can tell you haven't received it, either.
Monday and Tuesday went by: no delivery.
Delivery date #3: Sure enough, on Wednesday I got a call: "We are rescheduling your repair until Monday, April 9th." I said, "I hope you don't want me to pick up the part myself if I'm not home when it's delivered." "Oh no, it's very heavy. We won't ask you to pick it up." I had been thinking of a gear, a part that would come in a 10" x 12" x 8" sort of box. I pictured the mechanic opening up my washer, unscrewing the broken gear, tossing it in my trash, then attaching a more functional gear, and voila, a much quieter washing machine. Maybe, maybe not.
With this news, I decided to stay home all day Friday, to be sure to be home so that the delivery person could put this heavy delivery inside my house, in the foyer. Then the repairman could carry it from the foyer, down seven steps to my laundry room, and I would be entirely out of the carrying loop. The weather was miserable, anyway, so I didn't mind being housebound. However, as the hours passed and there was no knock on the door, I decided to call G.E. and see where it was. I didn't have a tracking number, so I couldn't look it up myself, but G.E. tracked my case by my telephone number which is, after all, a unique number...as long as I only use one phone. Hmmm.
Delivery date #4: This time the person I talked to put me on hold for quite a long time. When she came back, she said, "I can see that your part has gone to shipping, but I can't see a delivery date yet." I said, "Okay. Give me a tracking number, and I'll be able to confirm that it will be delivered on Monday." "I don't have a tracking number yet." Huh? "Then do you think it's a good idea to have the repairman come to my house on Monday when we can't be sure it will be here for him?" "No, I'll push it back again to Friday, April 13th. It should be delivered before then, and when it is, call us and we'll move up the repair date to earlier in the week."
I figured that if they couldn't even find the part on Friday, the likelihood of it being delivered on Monday were slim to none, so I went about my business, in and out of the house. Tuesday I stayed home: no delivery. Wednesday morning, first thing, I called G.E. This time I told the person I spoke to the whole saga of the past 13 days. I finished up, "What I can't figure out is how G.E. managed to put me in charge of its shipping process." That's when she bumped me up to Vickie, a woman in some uber-customer-service department for resolving complicated and screwed up shipping problems. Vickie said the part would be delivered on Friday, as scheduled, gave me her name and her department's direct line, got me a tracking number, and told me to call her department with if I had any other questions or problems. The repairman was scheduled to come the next day, Saturday, April 14th, between 8:00 and 5:00: another two days I would be spending indoors, waiting.
The tracking number looked like no other tracking number I had ever seen. It was only nine digits long vs. the usual twenty, and I had never heard of the company doing the shipping: Pallet Co. I went on Pallet's web site, clicked on the tracking link, and confirmed that delivery was scheduled for Friday.
I confirmed the delivery again Friday morning, then got busy around the house. I was up at my desk on the second floor when the doorbell made its raucous braying and tried, unsuccessfully, to hurry down the stairs. I no longer bolt from my chair and dash -- the first few minutes I'm in motion are warm-up time -- and by the time I got to the front door, I was afraid I might have missed the delivery. I called, "Delivery, delivery, I'm here. Don't go, don't go." A voice from inside the 18-wheeler parked in front of my house said, "Hi. I'll be a minute more." The 18-wheeler was my delivery truck!
No, I didn't have presence of mind to go get my camera and take a picture, but this is very similar to the vehicle parked in front of my house, on Lombard Street, where 18-wheelers are seldom seen.
This gave me a whole new idea of what my shipment looked like. I had envisioned something too heavy for me to easily lift but something in a container that was, say 30" square and 36" high. I went and looked in the back of the truck, and the guy in the truck had was maneuvering a hand truck in place so he could move my much-bigger-than-I-had-imagined box.
When he got it down the seven steps from the foyer to the laundry room, the box turned out to be a square sort of pillar, perhaps the 30" square I had imagined, but standing almost four feet high. B.I.G., in other words, especially in my small laundry room. Before I could gauge its size, he had to get it down those six steps....
...six steps made narrow by the hand rail on one wall. Thank heavens this guy was young, strong, and good-natured because he had to pick the whole box up and lift it over the handrail to get it through the short hallway and into the laundry area. I didn't even have $2.00 on hand for a tip.
The next day the repairman arrived on schedule, and I found out what was in my huge box: a new inner tub of my washing machine. In effect, G.E. sent out a whole new set of guts for my machine, ripped out the old ones and inserted the new ones. My washer now runs nice and quietly and I have a five year guarantee on the innards of my washer.
Pick up #1: When the repairman had finished fixing the washer and had collected the $416.38 he figured I owed General Electric for two visits and one repair, I learned that no, the repairman was not taking the big box, now filled with everything he had removed from my machine, away with him. I had to call G.E. and make the arrangements to have it picked up. Of course, by this time, it was late on a Saturday, so it was Monday before I could make the call.
When I didn't get a call back on Tuesday with a date for pick up, I called again on Wednesday and talked to my friend, Vickie, at G.E.'s uber-customer-service department, to see if she could expedite the matter. That's when I learned that they wouldn't schedule a pick-up; they expected you to leave the box curb-side and they would swoop down whenever and spirit it away. I explained why that wouldn't work for me, and Vickie promised to arrange pick up and get back to me...which she did today while I was out to lunch with friends. She left me a message saying she was following up with the shipping department and would be speaking with them on Tuesday, after which she would get back to me. I still seem to be my own Parts Manager.
What I want picked up and out of my small laundry room as soon as possible. Wish me luck!
And, on a lighter note, here are the women I went to lunch with, my neighbors -- next door or across the street -- from the house we lived in for 27 years and where we raised our sons. From left to right, Sandy (age 67), Betty (88), Pat (81), and me (80). A bunch of tough old broads.
Betty's son, Brian, took the picture in Betty's living room; he figured we'd been friends for fifty years. It's a start. FanSee
I washed, I dried, for two years and then...
One day another son, John, was in my house when the washer entered its spin cycle and demonstrated its spin cycle's roaring howl. It had been doing that for several months. John looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and said, "You don't think that's going to get any better if you leave it alone, do you?" Well, I didn't, but I knew that getting it repaired would require initiative, and for some reason, I felt singularly unmotivated. I could cite other problems I had dealt with while the washer howled, but none of them seemed like a really good explanation for not dealing with this problem. So the next day I went on line, found the G. E. site, and made an appointment to have a repairman come out.
The repairman's visit was brief. He listened, he opened the front of the machine, he pointed to a knot of machinery, and he said, "You've got a broken gear. I'll order the replacement part, and after you get it, someone will come out and install it. Now, today's visit will be $125.00 or you can pay for my visit when you pay for the installation. In that case, the whole cost will be $449.00." I gulped and said, "I'll wait and pay for everything altogether." I prefer to postpone pain.
Delivery date #1: The repairman said, "O.K. I'm ordering your part. It will take three or four days to arrive so I'll schedule the delivery for next Thursday, March 29th." I looked at my calendar and saw that that date would work well. On the 26th, 27th, and 28th, Liz would be in from Pittsburgh, visiting Joan and me, and I wouldn't want to be at home, waiting for a repairman instead of enjoying Liz' visit. Friday, March 30th, I had long-standing plans to engage in a matzoh-ball making marathon prior to a seder for about fifteen people on Saturday, March 31st.
There was the problem that I might not be home when the part was delivered. If the box was left on my stoop...a box with "G.E." writ large on it...a passerby might tuck it under their arm and take it home to see what kind of goodies it contained. In that case, G.E. would have to send a second part; that would be their problem. I was still using my washer, I'd have to wait until another replacement part arrived and my washer could be repaired. Right? Ri-i-ight.
After Joan dropped me off on our way back from taking Liz to the airport, there was still no sign of a G.E. box. I looked in the carport...the only place a box could be left besides sitting, front and center on my front stoop...no box. Also, no slip from the delivery service saying that delivery had been attempted. Oh well, I thought, it's been delivered to the repairman and he'll bring it tomorrow. I went inside to start dinner.
Delivery date #2: Before I could sit down to eat, I got a call from G.E., pushing back my repair for a week to Thursday, April 5th. I said, "Maybe it was delivered to the repairman, and he'll bring it with him." The answer was no, he doesn't have it, and we can tell you haven't received it, either.
Monday and Tuesday went by: no delivery.
Delivery date #3: Sure enough, on Wednesday I got a call: "We are rescheduling your repair until Monday, April 9th." I said, "I hope you don't want me to pick up the part myself if I'm not home when it's delivered." "Oh no, it's very heavy. We won't ask you to pick it up." I had been thinking of a gear, a part that would come in a 10" x 12" x 8" sort of box. I pictured the mechanic opening up my washer, unscrewing the broken gear, tossing it in my trash, then attaching a more functional gear, and voila, a much quieter washing machine. Maybe, maybe not.
With this news, I decided to stay home all day Friday, to be sure to be home so that the delivery person could put this heavy delivery inside my house, in the foyer. Then the repairman could carry it from the foyer, down seven steps to my laundry room, and I would be entirely out of the carrying loop. The weather was miserable, anyway, so I didn't mind being housebound. However, as the hours passed and there was no knock on the door, I decided to call G.E. and see where it was. I didn't have a tracking number, so I couldn't look it up myself, but G.E. tracked my case by my telephone number which is, after all, a unique number...as long as I only use one phone. Hmmm.
Delivery date #4: This time the person I talked to put me on hold for quite a long time. When she came back, she said, "I can see that your part has gone to shipping, but I can't see a delivery date yet." I said, "Okay. Give me a tracking number, and I'll be able to confirm that it will be delivered on Monday." "I don't have a tracking number yet." Huh? "Then do you think it's a good idea to have the repairman come to my house on Monday when we can't be sure it will be here for him?" "No, I'll push it back again to Friday, April 13th. It should be delivered before then, and when it is, call us and we'll move up the repair date to earlier in the week."
I figured that if they couldn't even find the part on Friday, the likelihood of it being delivered on Monday were slim to none, so I went about my business, in and out of the house. Tuesday I stayed home: no delivery. Wednesday morning, first thing, I called G.E. This time I told the person I spoke to the whole saga of the past 13 days. I finished up, "What I can't figure out is how G.E. managed to put me in charge of its shipping process." That's when she bumped me up to Vickie, a woman in some uber-customer-service department for resolving complicated and screwed up shipping problems. Vickie said the part would be delivered on Friday, as scheduled, gave me her name and her department's direct line, got me a tracking number, and told me to call her department with if I had any other questions or problems. The repairman was scheduled to come the next day, Saturday, April 14th, between 8:00 and 5:00: another two days I would be spending indoors, waiting.
The tracking number looked like no other tracking number I had ever seen. It was only nine digits long vs. the usual twenty, and I had never heard of the company doing the shipping: Pallet Co. I went on Pallet's web site, clicked on the tracking link, and confirmed that delivery was scheduled for Friday.
I confirmed the delivery again Friday morning, then got busy around the house. I was up at my desk on the second floor when the doorbell made its raucous braying and tried, unsuccessfully, to hurry down the stairs. I no longer bolt from my chair and dash -- the first few minutes I'm in motion are warm-up time -- and by the time I got to the front door, I was afraid I might have missed the delivery. I called, "Delivery, delivery, I'm here. Don't go, don't go." A voice from inside the 18-wheeler parked in front of my house said, "Hi. I'll be a minute more." The 18-wheeler was my delivery truck!
No, I didn't have presence of mind to go get my camera and take a picture, but this is very similar to the vehicle parked in front of my house, on Lombard Street, where 18-wheelers are seldom seen.
This gave me a whole new idea of what my shipment looked like. I had envisioned something too heavy for me to easily lift but something in a container that was, say 30" square and 36" high. I went and looked in the back of the truck, and the guy in the truck had was maneuvering a hand truck in place so he could move my much-bigger-than-I-had-imagined box.
When he got it down the seven steps from the foyer to the laundry room, the box turned out to be a square sort of pillar, perhaps the 30" square I had imagined, but standing almost four feet high. B.I.G., in other words, especially in my small laundry room. Before I could gauge its size, he had to get it down those six steps....
...six steps made narrow by the hand rail on one wall. Thank heavens this guy was young, strong, and good-natured because he had to pick the whole box up and lift it over the handrail to get it through the short hallway and into the laundry area. I didn't even have $2.00 on hand for a tip.
The next day the repairman arrived on schedule, and I found out what was in my huge box: a new inner tub of my washing machine. In effect, G.E. sent out a whole new set of guts for my machine, ripped out the old ones and inserted the new ones. My washer now runs nice and quietly and I have a five year guarantee on the innards of my washer.
Pick up #1: When the repairman had finished fixing the washer and had collected the $416.38 he figured I owed General Electric for two visits and one repair, I learned that no, the repairman was not taking the big box, now filled with everything he had removed from my machine, away with him. I had to call G.E. and make the arrangements to have it picked up. Of course, by this time, it was late on a Saturday, so it was Monday before I could make the call.
When I didn't get a call back on Tuesday with a date for pick up, I called again on Wednesday and talked to my friend, Vickie, at G.E.'s uber-customer-service department, to see if she could expedite the matter. That's when I learned that they wouldn't schedule a pick-up; they expected you to leave the box curb-side and they would swoop down whenever and spirit it away. I explained why that wouldn't work for me, and Vickie promised to arrange pick up and get back to me...which she did today while I was out to lunch with friends. She left me a message saying she was following up with the shipping department and would be speaking with them on Tuesday, after which she would get back to me. I still seem to be my own Parts Manager.
What I want picked up and out of my small laundry room as soon as possible. Wish me luck!
And, on a lighter note, here are the women I went to lunch with, my neighbors -- next door or across the street -- from the house we lived in for 27 years and where we raised our sons. From left to right, Sandy (age 67), Betty (88), Pat (81), and me (80). A bunch of tough old broads.
Betty's son, Brian, took the picture in Betty's living room; he figured we'd been friends for fifty years. It's a start. FanSee