Battling the Sears Repairman

I am not a haggler. I do not like to negotiate prices or anything related to money. It makes me uncomfortable. I lack the competitive spirit necessary to squeeze dollars out of my “opponent”. And it is one of the things I wish I was better at. I am quite certain that over the years I have overpaid on a variety of items just because it was easier to surrender than to fight. And other than managing to get a 10% reduction on slightly damaged items at Loehmanns from time to time where the culture of the store demands its clientele exhibit a little bit of hutzpah, I have just not been that     successful.

When my 3 daughters, my husband and I were all still living together, I, on a daily basis did on average of 2-3 loads of laundry per day. Between the gym clothes, the hanging around/school/work clothes, the “going out” clothes and the towels for their 2 showers a day, I was like Beulah the laundress lady. So during this peak laundry period in my life when my 1 year old washing machine broke down, I was in crisis mode.  

I had bought my very expensive, high capacity, state of the art washer from Sears. I bought it from my nephew Andrew who worked summers during college in the appliance department.(I used my nephew for the family discount and no, I did not buy the extended warranty that he would have made a commission on) Andrew assured me that the quality of my new Sears brand washer (but for the reduced price) was equivalent in every way to the GE brand that I had originally wanted. So when it broke down, I blamed myself for not getting the GE. I assumed that Sears’ products were inferior.

I made a personal commitment that this time, I would haggle. This time I would demand my consumer rights. This time I would not take no for an answer. I was going to get that 1 year old washer fixed for free. The warranty was still in effect after all. And so I practiced in front of the bathroom mirror how to be assertive, aggressive and quasi-rude. And when that repairman showed up I would be ready. I would vanquish my submissive ways—I would make myself and family proud.

So the Sears repairman arrived and as he made his way to the laundry room I let him have it: I can’t believe this machine is broken already. This is ridiculous—I spent all this money blah blah blah. I am NOT paying for its repair!!

I would like to say that I instilled fear in the man from Sears but all he did was shrug his shoulders and simply say; If it was a manufacture’s defect, the repair will be free but if the damage was done by you, the homeowner, you will be responsible for the bill. Fine. I said in an aggressive tone and I might even have crossed my arms across my chest for emphasis.

The thing is, I believed that there was no way the broken washer could have been my fault. I mean how could it have been? God knows I was the only person in the house to actually use the washer and all I ever did was fill the thing with clothes and use the Tide HE detergent recommended by the manufacturer. Sears definitely was the culprit. There was no possible way it could be anything other than that.

So the repairman said I won’t know what’s wrong with the motor (he had already ascertained that the motor was the problem) until I remove the housing. And he then began unscrewing and taking things apart. All the while I was tapping my foot and shaking my head like I had Parson’s disease to emphasize in the most dramatic way my anger over the malfunctioning motor.

And finally he said Oh, I think I understand the problem--the motor burned out. And I said See I told you—Sears sold me a defective washer—and I was thrilled that finally I was going to reap the reward of all that practice time spent in front of the bathroom mirror pretending to be so assertive, aggressive and quasi-rude. And then he pulled out 2 curved wires: one smaller, one much larger, and both with plastic tips at the end, from the washing machine. And all my bravado promptly faded. I said Oh—was that the problem? And he said yes—they jammed up the motor and burned it out. And with genuine curiosity he asked What are they? And with eyes cast downward I meekly mumbled: underwires—they are from bras.

It figured. The one opportunity I had to demonstrate my adept well-rehearsed haggling skills as well as overcome my submissive ways was purloined by Wacoal underwires. I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me for making an dumb-ass out of myself, or the repairman for having to acknowledge that he did not recognize an  underwire when he saw one.  

So in addition to the Sears bill, I now also needed to replace two $80 Wacoal bras. I immediately got my checkbook and paid the repairman and shooed him out the door as quickly as possible.

So in case you are wondering. No, I didn’t immediately go to Nordstom to complain about them selling me inferior underwire bras. I just bought new ones and said nothing. I was mentally defeated. It was much easier to surrender than fight. And I had had enough trauma for one day.