"90-Day Warranty on Toilet Seats???"

(Written 1/21/12 by ChristopherK2)

 

I recently went to Lowe's to exchange a busted toilet.  I was already in a foul mood because it had only lasted EIGHT months. 

 

I bought it because it was the right shape (round), color (white), and style (Arts & Crafts).  I paid scant attention to who made it or where it was made because, after all, I was buying it at Lowe's.

 

Those who know me know I'm hardly of "toilet seat busting" size.  But I apparently did a strict no-no in the modern buyer-beware-it's-made-in-China retail world.  I dared to actually SIT on the seat cover while putting on/taking off my shoes and socks.  I know... DUMB.  <cough>  I'm guessing that led to excessive torquing of the "metal" hinges (because the little support thingies between the seat and cover were too wimpy and too few), which snapped.  And by "metal," I now understand that to mean, "some gray semi-metal looking stuff that's probably a mix of cheap plastic and floor-sweepings."

 

So, I dutifully went to the Return Desk at Lowe's and showed the Return Gal the busted seat and my receipt.  She informed me that it's "store policy" that toilet seats are guaranteed for ONLY 90 days.  WHAT??? 

 

She also said they didn't accept "used" toilet seats, and I'd have to get rid of it myself.  Well, harumph!  I had even cleaned all of the crud off of it!

 

I spent most of my adult career as a corporate attorney and part of it in high-end professional sales.  So, I had a LOT of training and experience in negotiating, and I wasn't about to let that "store policy" stand in my way.

 

I looked around and noticed that the returns desk was right beside the main entrance.  Ah HA!  I then waited for a potential customer to enter and raised my voice considerably to inform the Return Gal that their policy was UNacceptable and that I wished to speak to a "manager."  I may have mentioned the THOUSANDS of dollars I've spent at their store remodeling my house.

 

She made a brief phone call, and informed me that they would (with graciousness implied) "allow" me to exchange mine for another one of the same model.  WHAT???  I said, "Do you mean you want me to accept another 90-day toilet seat???"  <voice rising more, as I got on a roll>  "I think toilet seats ought to LAST 20 YEARS, NOT just 90 days!  Seriously, do you want me showing up here EVERY 89 DAYS to swap my then conveniently-broken one for another piece of made-in-China CRAP???" 

 

The poor gal decided to dump me on the manager of the toilet seat department, which is what I wanted all along... a face-to-face meeting with a guy who doesn't care.

 

The Toilet Seat Guy was yammering with another customer when I arrived, so I checked out the other available toilet seats.  When he finally got around to me, I repeated everything (in a quiet voice because no one else was around).  I ended with showing him the Kohler seat I wanted, which had a *1-year* warranty printed on the box.

 

He started to waver a bit, so I threw in a rant about having to dispose of the old one MYSELF and showed him how sparkling clean it was.  I said something about the unfairness of that policy given that they accept those high-tech light bulbs with the poisonous mercury or something inside of them.  Mercury yes, toilet seat crud no?  

 

So, he caved.  He gave me a "store credit" for the full price of the old seat, and off I went with my fancy new toilet seat.  It's not my fav Arts & Crafts style, BUT it does have a really cool "quiet close" feature.  Kudos to whomever invented that!

 

The moral here I think is that loudly feigning outrage almost always pays off with stores.

 

When I got home, the first thing I did was, of course, to calendar one year ahead to bust my new toilet seat and return it.  HA!  And I now sit on the edge of the bathtub to do my shoes and socks, to avoid offending the Toilet Seat Gods.

Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" Speech

(Delivered from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. on August 28, 1963.)

...Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.  We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. ...

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream.  It is a dream deeply rooted in the American Dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:  "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. ...

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day... little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers...

I have a dream that one day... the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope.  This is the faith that I go back to the South with. ...  With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.  With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together...  to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day...

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true.  So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.  Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.  Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.  Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado. ...

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Negro spiritual, "Free at last!  Free at last!  Thank God almighty, we are free at last."

Rev. Martin Luther King

"Prancer--A Story... and More"

(Posted 1/3/12, but written many years ago...)

I'm fondly gazing at a pic of a photograph I took a couple of years ago. It appears to be nothing special--just a nice landspace shot.  The dull browns, grays and greens suggest it's early winter... a somber, blue-gray sky... looking down a gentle hill thru leafless trees, past an ugly street lamp... some scattered hedges at the bottom... beyond, a sandbox with a mother and her small boy... here and there a picnic table or a swing set.  A nice park perhaps?

Actually, it's from a series of photographs of the City Park in Hagerstown, Maryland, where I grew up.  The hill is steeper than it appears--a drawback of photography.  And when I was a small boy, there was an entire "hedge garden" of which there are now only those remnants.

And as with each of those photographs, there is a story.

Some of you know a little about Prancer, for whom my screen name is an honorific.  She was a Toy Manchester dog, given to my brother and me by Mom shortly after Dad's death at my age 6.  She lived until I was in college.  Seven pounds of love and motion.  A magnificent pet, who I loved immensely.

I was Prancer's main "walker."  (My brother suffered from polio when young, and really couldn't keep up with her for very long.)  I don't think it was until after puberty that I could actually run faster than Prancer.  Those little legs sure could churn FAST!  LOL

And one of my favorite places to take Prancer on a "walk" was the City Park.  Thus the hill and the story, the photograph and pic, and now, this--to try to capture a memory that is still so vivid after all these years.

Ed. Note: I moved back to Hagerstown a few years ago, to be back home after so many years away. A couple of years ago, I moved to just a short piece from the house in which I was raised.  Now I'm a brief walk away from the City Park.  So I (and sometimes Pamela) walk by that hill regularly. And after all these years, I still always stop there... and pause a few moments to remember... 

This Cracked Me Up...

Maybe it's a Guy Thing,  but this video cracked me up...

Mother of all Hot Wheels Tracks