How easy is it to get something you don't actually need or want? In our case, harder than you would actually believe! Allow me to explain.
It all started with the washing machine deciding that, although it would wash clothes, it didn't want to empty itself of water to allow access to the clothes therein. On closer inspection, the fault was finally traced to an inoperative water pump, having emptied and cleaned the filter, and finding lots of small articles which we didn't know had gone missing, along with a considerable amount of small coins amounting to £6.52 in total. Having decided that a replacement pump for the washing machine was uneconomic due to the age of the appliance, we applied ourselves to the task of finding a replacement.
Over the last few years, appliances added to our kitchen had changed from white to cream or brown, and, having recently had new kitchen units fitted in keeping with this colour scheme, we wished to find a new washing machine which would harmonise. Manufacturer was not really important, although both of us had strong views on what not to get, from previous experience. So we start looking for a machine which washes clothes and comes in a cream/brown tone. Simple, right?
No. Not exactly. We looked in catalogues to try to get an idea of price and models on offer, then we went looking in the shops to get a better price. After visiting several outlets, it became clear that you could get any machine you wished in any shade. Of white - only. Footsore and frustrated, we went home.
Determination to find something to do the washing with, other than by hand or using someone else's machine, drove us out again, before we were swamped under an ever increasing mound of dirty, smelly items (especially the socks from our ten- year old lad), who's also a muck magnet. A new retail park had opened recently a few miles out of town, so we went to browse, and listen to the spiel from the ever- so-helpful sales assistants hoping for commission. There are washers with dryers, washers that wash whiter than white, washers that think, washers that can hand wash (!). In fact, washers that do everything short of collecting the clothes for you, driving them inside and making you a cup of tea while you watch. All in varying shades of white - polar white, white, silver white, white, off-white, white, white with a bluish, or pinkish, or greenish tinge, and white. Don't forget the white. Oh, and sometimes in a grey colour, sorry, Silver. (And white.)
Finally, we found one in cream - except it's not called cream any more. It's called Natural Linen, but it's two shades of cream; a very light coffee colour for the upper part and the lower part could best be called buttermilk. It's the closest we have seen in a colour we like. It's about the same size as the old one, so it should fit in the space allotted for it. The price is reasonable too. Several places had it, so we chose the outlet with the best price, as you would expect. We tell the sales assistant that we will return the following day, with cash to purchase it.
The following day, only one of us went, but taking the muck magnet along. We thought it had better meet the person most likely to give it the hardest work. If it didn't turn white from fright, or leave the building, it could very well be the right model for us. We duly waited for the same sales assistant to become free, introduced the muck magnet, and went to examine the machine, which didn't flinch. Sold. Muck magnet noticed the special offer of a double duvet which came free with the machine. Why, when you have recently bought one, do you find one as a free gift? Don't need one now, he was reminded. However, the sales assistant was pleased we had noticed, as she had forgotten to mention it. Still don't need one, I said, I'd much rather have a new kettle (in cream, of course), instead. Can't be done, it's the manufacturer's offer, not the shop's offer. Shame. Not to worry, she explains, we don't have any kettles in cream (surprise, surprise), and you could always save the duvet and use it as a present for someone.
Eventually the deal is done. A date is set for the delivery and fitting of the new machine, including collection of the old one, on Wednesday afternoon, three days away. The duvet will arrive with the machine.
We go home and wait. Wednesday is our joint day off work. The day when we pay bills, go shopping, and generally try to fit everything we can into 24 hours. This particular Wednesday, however, had everything crammed into the morning, after I had had to go to work for two hours to cover for sickness. The afternoon was kept aside for the receiving and installation of the New Appliance. We spent an hour making a pathway free of obstacles through the house into the kitchen.
We cleared the unit under the sink of items, so it was easier to fit the hoses, and shifted the table and chairs to make more room. Then, with a well earned cuppa, sat and waited for it's arrival. And waited. And waited. And got anxious and phoned the shop.
"When is it likely to arrive?"
"Don't worry," was the reply, "the order has been confirmed by the manufacturer, and it will come in their own vehicle, sometime before 5 o'clock. It's early yet, only 2.30, so give it time."
At 3.30, we decided to allow Murphy's Law to intervene, as it will, and start to mow the lawn. Whenever we try to do this sort of thing, something always impedes progress. Not this time. The lawn looked splendid, as did the flower- beds, freshly denuded of weeds. Still, no washing machine. Well, we had tried.
At 4.45, the shop was called again. "Where is it? The sun has shone all day, there's a pile of clothes needing washing, which would dry on such a day, and no machine to do it in."
"Don't worry," they say, "this manufacturer has been known to deliver up to 6 o'clock. Besides, we're certain it will arrive as the duvet has been delivered to the shop." Apparently, it was their offer after all, and it has arrived, and we could collect it whenever we wished. We're not bothered, we just want the machine. So we wait.
At 5.45, we phone again. Now they're getting worried. Duvet, or no duvet, there's no machine on the horizon. They decide to call the manufacturer.
The phone rings; no joy, just an answer machine - the manufacturer has office hours of 9 to 5 and everyone's gone home. However, someone else remembers that deliveries can happen up to 7 o'clock when it's particularly busy, such as Christmas.
"But it's not Christmas," we remind them, " "although it's coming quicker than the machine."
"Miracles can happen. We can always deliver on another day, if it doesn't arrive", they offer. "Name a day."
"Our next day off is next Wednesday," we say.
"But you don't want to wait until next Wednesday!" they say. Too right, we don't!
"We close at 8 o'clock, please phone if you don't receive it by then", they suggest. "But.....how?.."and the line has gone dead, as they've rung off.
At 5 minutes past 7, the phone rings again. This time there's a different voice on the end of the line.
"I've got a washing machine on board for you. But I can't find your address on the map. Can you direct me?~ We shout for joy. It's the deliverer, and he's lost.
One set of quick instructions and he's on his way. Except he goes straight past the house and seems to be on his way to the motorway! Luckily he's worked out that the houses seem to be getting fewer and turns around, just as we are getting back on the phone.
"Good morning,"he calls, jumping down from the cab.
"Morning?" we say. (Is this guy a complete nutter?)
"It will be, when we get home", came the cheery reply. "We started at 6 this morning, and we've still got two more machines to deliver in another town, before we can set off home. We'll just fit your's and we'll be off."
He and his mate quickly off-load the machine, do a very smart swap around with the old one and re-fit. A quick test, stop a leak, and they're away, leaving us to admire the machine and then scurry around finding things to wash. It's very quiet compared to the old one, and doesn't dance around the kitchen - doing the washing is not as entertaining as it was. We used to enjoy the waltz on wash day and wonder where the machine would end up next. Now we can have a conversation whilst washing, without having to resort to sign language to make ourselves understood.
I remember to let the store know it has arrived, and they offer to deliver the duvet having volunteered one of the assistants who passes our house on the way home for the assignment. That's very kind of them, we think. Top marks to all at the store. Mental note made to send a letter of commendation to their head office for quality of service.
This has all gone very smoothly so far, apart from the wait. Again we sit and wait for someone, but we know it should be shortly after 8 o'clock, so it shouldn't be too long.
How wrong can you be? After waiting until 10.30, and having completed three wash loads, we assume he has forgotten to pick up the duvet before leaving work.
We didn't need it anyway, so there's no panic.
I phoned the store the following day to enquire regarding the duvet, to be told the reason for non-delivery was due to not being able to locate our road. As it was still in his boot, I gave precise instructions to our address and was promised delivery that evening after 8. It didn't arrive. I was getting annoyed now, being unable to pick it up ourselves, due to work commitments, but thought that things could have gone awry, and as there was no hurry, it could wait.
It didn't arrive Friday night either, but that could have been due to said gentleman having made plans for that evening - important date, night down at the pub with mates, something interesting on TV, last episode of favourite serial, funeral of goldfish, etc.
Nothing arrived on Saturday either, so late in the afternoon, the store had a visit from my other half, in his company vehicle which happens to be a 24 foot tilt-and- slide recovery truck, with which he inconveniently closed the car park. It certainly gained the attention of the store staff, who became very anxious to help.
The duvet, it appeared, was missing, gone, not to be found, absent without leave, presumably still recumbent in the boot of sales assistant's car, who was not present and appeared to be un-contactable, either by home phone or mobile. Enter the store manager, who was enlightened to our plight and the circumstances of the free duvet. An offer was made to deliver the duvet, when work allowed, and of course, the car park was re-opened, after the manager had made suitable soothing and apologetic sounds.
Exit one recovery driver to wait, and wait, and wait. All of Saturday, and Sunday, and Monday. We didn't want it anyway, but now there's a principle to be considered. I'd rather have had a kettle - regardless of the colour.
I could have picked that up on the day I paid for the machine, and I'll need a new one shortly. Kettles have a hard life in this household - it's all those cuppas whilst you're waiting for deliveries.
Tuesday morning dawns wet, very wet in fact. Grumbling as I go to work, getting wet and uncomfortable, only to find that as the day wears on, the rain gets heavier and heavier. No chance of getting any washing dry today, then. Doesn't matter, I'm at work anyway.
Halfway through the morning, I receive a phone call from the other half, who's on a break, having called in home for a change into dry clothing. There had been a knock at the front door, and, having opened it, he found a very wet and bedraggled youth, standing on the doorstep in the teeming rain, wearing a very apologetic look, and holding what looked suspiciously like a duvet in his hand!
"Mrs. Green?"
"Emmm. No. Not unless the surgeon's knife slipped." quipped the other half.
"Mrs. Green's residence, then?" he asked, uncertainly.
"Yup."
"Then I have her free duvet here!"
"Then keep hold of it tightly then. This thing seems to have a habit of eluding everyone; we don't want it going missing again." He handed it over, gripping it tightly, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"And now we've got it, we're going to nail it to the mattress, so it can't escape!"
There's just one problem. We don't know whose mattress to nail it to. So it sits, still in it's plastic covering, until we decide who the recipient will be.
Anyone want a well travelled 10.5 tog double duvet in exchange for a working kettle in cream? A personal swap is recommended, due to it's previous record.
Can't trust it to the Mail - it'll never get delivered. Not until it's covered 5,000 miles, anyway!
