The Bookcases

I blogged last month on my digust with the racket that is extended warranties . . . without elaborating very much on the outsourced joke that is now "customer service" for most large companies (especially companies that trade online) . . . a joke that puts you on the phone for hours with people from India with fake American names who can barely speak English.

In that post, I did not allude to the troubles I was having with the delivery of a fairly large order I placed with bookcasesgalore.com last month.

Contrary to what most lay people think, many doctors in primary care are not "rich". Over the years, done way-beyond-dirty by my hometown hospital . . . and with lawyers siphoning off a huge portion of my meager income as a Locum Tenens Pediatrician even as they swindled me (but hey, that's okay with just about everybody) . . . I have not had a lot of extra cash to spend on frivolous things like furniture and home repair . . . much less invest in a retirement account.

Of course, at this point, I suppose I should be grateful I did not have the money to invest.

It was only by a fluke of someone else's bad luck that I got my driveway paved several years back . . . when the local DA's office decided to prove it was tough on child abuse by prosecuting the rape case that wasn't. My testimony was coerced and manipulated to serve King Dozier's self-serving ends . . . convicting a man of something I did not actually testify to. But the money I made as an expert witness on that case laid the asphalt over gravel.

Meanwhile, no matter what he's done, the over-paid & well-connected unconvicted felon running our local hospital can vacation in Hilton Head, and put an elevator in his house and move right on along with his retirement plans without missing a manicure.

While I'm getting hammered and insulted in the blogs on a regular basis . . . by people who don't have a clue about what I've endured - or what they're talking about - and seem to think it's all for sport - or that it somehow makes them "cool" to anonymously call someboy a "wack-job" . . . nobody asks Bob a single damned question.

Last year, I was beyond-blessed to hook up with a hospital system that desperately needed my services (as a Pediatric hospitalist) and was willing to pay (well) for them - as it was more or less an emergent situation. It literally was a first in ten years in terms of income for me . . . I was finally making a salary that many of my private-practice or fellowship-trained schoolmates have been enjoying for years. The extra money was like manna from heaven. And/so, buckling down and living frugally for all of last year, I paid off several long-standing debts (i.e. the equity line, my car) - and got the credit cards down to zero.

It was beyond-liberating to get some of these heavy monkeys off my back . . . especially as I watched the world financial system go straight to hell in a matter of weeks. A lot of my friends lost huge amounts of invested money. I'd never had it to lose.

The extra cash also made for a nice Christmas;)

I have wavered for a very long time about whether or not to sell the house in Asheboro. After this summer's alcohol referendum, and the Dave's Moutain annexation battle (in which my "rich" neighbors and I were apparently expected to be grateful to have our property trashed and our pockets picked), it was clear to me that the Asheboro I had grown up in and once loved dearly was beyond dead (I didn't need Forbes to tell me) - and I began to entertain thoughts about moving.

It was a hard thought to entertain. I've fought so hard to be able to come back/stay. I love my home - in which I have a lot of equity (because I did not move several times in my career). It is well-built and beautifully landscaped . . . with a view from the kitchen windows that ignorant, damnedYankee bluehairs would pay big bucks for were it in the mountains around Boone and Asheville. The ashes and ghosts of beloved pets are scattered on and walk the grounds. Birdhouses and feeders adorn the trees (I am a birdwatcher). A thicket on the front bank is home to dozens of rabbits . . . it's my own Watership Down. The house is a gathering place for my high-school YaYas when they come home (as well as a permanent home for one of them - who sits the place while I am gone). And there are the touches of both my parents in the wiring (not-so private joke) and the decor.

Last Fall, with all of this in mind, I did some interviews . . . including one in Lexington (which I really need to blog about - because the more I think about it, the more what ultimately happened pisses me off) . . . and one for a permanent job in a lovely coastal town . . . and I got offers, but in the end, I actually decided to stay where I was - with modifications for a longer term arrangement . . . and to continue the commute down East . . . as well as the compartmentalization of my life. I now work in several-week scheduled blocks of time . . . with one-week blocks of time off.

This is one of those weeks. And I was scheduled to have bookcases delivered today.

That's a bit of a story too.

I read. I read a lot. I started reading when I was very, very young. Dr. Seuss was small potatoes. I inhaled the WorldBook Encyclopedia . . . then Britannica . . . then Daddy's collection of National Geographics, and then literally anything & everything I could get my hands on. I read Gone With The Wind in the sixth grade in about three days without really putting it down . . . War & Peace was devoured shortly thereafter. Three majors in college, stints in medical school & residency, and a serious Borders/Barnes & Noble/Books-A-Million addiction later, I have quite the collection of books . . . indeed, there are collections in the collection (including a few of Daddy's train books that we did not donate to that museum in Tennessee).

I love the way books smell. I love the way they feel in your hand. I love the places they can take you. I love falling asleep with one and waking up to one. Say what you will about a computer and the Internet. There is NO comparison to a good book.

But until this year, I was never able to afford bookcases. With the extra cash on hand, and the bills paid, and no desire to invest in a market as the bottom fell out of it, I decided that I wanted a proper home office & library . . . and I decided it was going to be in my front (unfurnished) living room. I began budgeting for the project.

Just so you know how many books we're talking about, there are approximately 100 boxes stacked in the front foyer beside the stairwell . . . which, over Christmas, were moved downstairs from storage in an unused bedroom - in preparation for their transfer to their final, permanent home.

I did quite a bit of internal wailing & gnashing over whether or not to put in "built-ins" or simply buy bookcases. But when the housing market went to hell, the decision was more or less made for me. I decided pouring more money into the house (that I might not be able to recoup if I ever did sell), did not make any sense (especially since someone buying it might want a living room instead of a library). I needed something I could move if I ever left.

Budgeting not just my money, but my time, I decided to paint and prepare the room . . . so that would not have to be done over & around anything I purchased.

Then, I started looking for bookcases. Specifically, large solid-oak bookcases with some kind of door (like the cases I've seen in so many lawyers' offices). And I needed (based on my measurements of the room and available sizes), six to nine bookcases.

I found one at Pottery Barn that I really liked - with large, sliding doors. But it was not solid-oak and it was back-ordered into next spring.

Then I went to Furnitureland South and the Boyles at High Point to search the catalogues (as I did years ago with Mother when she furnished our home). But bookcases aren't a big thing. Ugly, over-priced, poorly-made furniture styled for P-Diddy & Elivs aficionados apparently is. The salespeople could only offer me over-priced (albeit very pretty) china cabinets. One saleslady tried to tell me that, sure, the glass shelving would support the weight of hundreds of books. I took her recommendations under advisement and moved on.

So I wound up online - and at "Bookcasesgalore". And I eventually found what I wanted. After talking with a very nice saleslady, I ordered/purchased five bookcases at a corporate rate . . . four "double cabinets and one single . . . all with doors and six shelves apiece. The order came in at just over ten thousand dollars. It's a whole lot of money for me. But a decent home library is something I've wanted for well over a decade.

Because of the size of the order . . . and the up-front payment-in-full, shipping was "free" and guaranteed within one week. The cases, made by a company in Virginia, were in stock. They would be delivered on December 22 - while I was home for Christmas.

The problem started when they were not delivered.

And when I started making calls, that's when the nice saleslady who spoke good English could not be found, and I was stuck talking to young people with thick-accents in India who had no idea what was going on . . . and were incapable of independent thought or action.

Many, many, many phones calls later, it was ascertained that Bookcasesgalore contracts out delivery on very large orders, and my bookcases were on a truck to Indiana. No one could/would explain how a product made in Virginia and destined for North Carolina wound up in Indiana. Moreover, delivery could not/would not be made until after the new year (on January 5) - after I went back to work.

No one said, "I'm sorry", for the mistake or the inconvenience. No one offered any kind of further discount. Many of the people I spoke to were just plain rude. I was just supposed to suck up and deal with it.

And haven't I heard that before?

I told the delivery company that, because of my work schedule, I could not accept delivery until the 26th of January, and that I definitely could not accept delivery on January 5th. I told them I would call them if something changed. Nothing changed.

On January 5, I got a call from a delivery man informing me that he was on his way to my house to deliver the bookcases!?!

At the time I took the call, I was back at work down East . . . hundreds of miles and several hours away . . . and on-call. None of my friends or family were available to meet him/let him in, and none of them were comfortable accepting a delivery of this size and cost in my absence.

Exasperated, I told the delivery man not to bother coming to Asheboro . . . and that I was less-than-happy that the bookcases had been loaded on and off trucks over and over again . . . they were going to get damaged. He apologized and told me to call his dispatchers.

Arrangements were once again made to deliver the cases today . . . between 10 AM and 2 PM. I was very happy and excited this morning when I got up. And I was delighted when the (same) delivery man called at 8:30 to tell me that he would be at my house between 9:30 and 10:00 AM.

The truck arrived on time and the two young men on it began unloading the cases - which were to be assembled in sections. Once we established which door they would come in, I began clearing a path through the house from my garage door to the living room. But just a few minutes into this project, one of the young men came to get me - telling me that, "We have a problem, and I want you to see this before I unload anything else . . . you have to make a decision."

The first section they had unloaded - in an apparently pristine/undamaged box - had a massive hole through the top of the compartment - with wood pieces and splinters scattered inside the case and behind the glass doors. It looked as though someone had smashed their elbow or their fist through the very thin wood. The cabinet appeared to be poorly finished and not of the quality I had expected for the price I paid.

I could not believe what I was seeing. I was on the verge of tears.

The nice young deliverymen advised me that it might be best for me to refuse the entire shipment - before they spent hours unpacking and sorting it all - if I was going to reject the damaged section (of course I was going to reject it!). They could take it all back to their warehouse . . . where (for an additional charge) it could be unpacked and inspected by a company representative, then restored/re-shipped.

I could also just reject the shipment entirely, get a refund and re-order.

Reorder. Yeah, sure.

But the rest made perfect sense to me. I signed the appropriate "rejection" forms so the boys could get on with the rest of their day, and went inside . . . first to stand in my empty "library" and cry . . . then to steel myself for the hours I expected to spend on the phone to get my money back. I did not want the damned cabinets inspected or assembled piecemeal and re-delivered. I wanted to be done with Bookcasesgalore.

After several false starts - with more earnest young people from India - I finally was connected with a senior company rep who said she could not "cancel" the order, but she could refund my money to my Discover card. Her company would then investigate, and file a claim for their loss with their insurance company.

I said, "Fine, good, whatever. Just refund my money. I don't care what you or your delivery company or your insurance company do. You've wasted enough of my time."

This is commerce in America.

As YaYas called in late this morning - to see if I was happily putting books into cases, I had to tell the story one too many times. I was not a happy camper - this one really hurt. When Mama called to check in, I told her I had to get out of the house and out of this damned town. So she called my sister-in-law and we arranged to meet her and my niece at BonBebe off New Garden in Greensboro (which, alas, will be closing soon) for some major retail therapy.

Spoiling an already-spoiled beyond-beautiful baby whose smile lights up a room (and who was wearing some really swell fuzzy rabbit boots her Aunt Mary got her for Christmas with some of that extra money she didn't want to invest) is great therapy. The bookcases were quickly put into perspective. A lesson has been learned - the only thing really lost is a little time.

Mama and I are going to some asking around to see if someone local can craft what I need/want. It may take some time and I may pay a little bit more, but maybe, just maybe I'll have something of quality worth owning and passing on someday.

But the more I thought about it through the day, the angrier I got. As a doctor, my every action is subjected to the highest scrutiny. The customer is always right even when they are dead wrong. People in suits can devalue my services. I can be sued by ambulance chasers by anyone with a grudge and a filing fee.

Moreover, my life and practice in my own hometown could be destroyed for all of the wrong reasons - using unethical & illegal means - and nobody in a position or medical or legal oversight gives a royal damn.

When I come to the blogosphere to ask for help, I'm repeatedly insulted, ridiculed and told to get on with my life and over myself. My education is nothing but the butt of a joke.

Yet people with whom I do business . . . seeking goods & services . . . routinely assume I'm "rich" (because I'm a doctor) and repeatedly try to take advantage of me in the work and services they provide. And more than once, the work or product has been crap.

With all of this experience in mind, I have just one thing to say to Keith Crisco. SCREW YOUR &^%$#@!* GLOBALIZATION! THAT IS WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS DAMNED COUNTRY NOW! WE DON'T PRODUCE ANYTHING WORTH A CRAP. PEOPLE DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE QUALITY OF THEIR WORK - OR THEIR WORK PRODUCT! AND CUSTOMER SERVICE IS A CHEAP, OUT-SOURCED JOKE WITH A THICK ACCENT AND A FAKE NAME!

No wonder this country is on the fast track to hell. And it's got NOTHING to do with George Bush. It's all about us.

We need to get back to producing our own quality goods, providing our own quality services and taking quality care of our own people. We need drop the enlightened notions of entitlement . . . of everything for nothing . . . and get back to the basic concepts of accountability . . . of right and wrong . . . of rewards and consequences . . . of hard work and fair play.

On that note, I'm going to take a break, feed the cats, maybe draw a long, hot bath . . . before I trek back over to Ed Cone's and see who else has left a smart-assed comment aimed to diss Dr. Mary Johnson.

PM Update: I'm not up for WordUp tonight. In the morning perhaps. After a date with a good homeless book.

1/26/09 Update: A comment I posted at WordUp two mornings ago (in response to Sam/Ian/Ed) appears to have been deleted. Typical. I do not have a copy. I left another comment.