What a crazy weekend. I had a shopping Jones and a hair appointment on Saturday. Everything revolved around the long-awaited hair appointment. My stylist books well in advance and if you snooze, you lose. It was all supposed to work in beautiful symmetry, but I totally screwed up the shopping experience and missed my hair appointment. I managed to score a cute top before it was all over.
I was wearing my wiglet and feeling girly, so I indulged at Ann Taylor on Friday. I had brain compression from the extra hair and bought two dresses, one skirt, one jacket, a belt, two cardigans and a tee. The dresses, jacket and belt were full price, the rest on sale and they said if I applied for a credit card, I'd get 15 percent off.
I never, ever get any kind of credit card from any store. All my bills go to one VISA, and I pay that off every month. I explained this to the sales associate, who said I could use the Ann Taylor card to get points but then write a check before I leave the store, so I don't have to mess with billing. Oh, OK.
When I got home, I found a mailer in the bag announcing their huge sale started Saturday. Buy three items at full price and get 40 percent off. My head was already starting to hurt, and I was sweating like it was the SAT and a train just left Boston to meet up with another one in New York and unless I knew algebra or geometry or something, they'd crash and everyone would die. This is why I majored in journalism.
I did the math, and I would have saved less than $20 by taking everything back for 40 percent off the full-price items versus 15 percent off everything I bought. I wasn't going to do it for the $20 but then decided it was all going back anyway. Shopper's remorse. I did a fashion show for my husband, who said it was all fine but a little boring compared to what I usually wear. Wow, you wake up one morning and find yourself living with Mr. Blackwell.
Conveniently, there's an Ann Taylor in the same little shopping center where I get my hair done. I had plenty of time before my appointment, so I started with the return. The sales associate was lovely ... said it wouldn't be a problem ... that I'd get a credit on my Ann Taylor card. I asked if I could have it on my VISA or cash or something, and she called the manager, who said they have a policy of crediting the card you used. I'm thinking, hey, didn't I write a check? I said, well, I purchased something yesterday, I bring it back today with all the tags and all the receipts, and you're saying all I get is a store credit?
The manager said, "Call the card company. Maybe they'll do something."
This was all handled in a mature, adult way, but I was seething. This was a fair chunk of change I would have to worry about spending at Ann Taylor, which was suddenly not as appealing.
It was a pretty day. I sat on a bench, whipped out my iPhone and made the call. The card people were very nice and said to wait a few business days for the transaction to go through and call back. They can either send me a check or do an electronic transfer. Yea!
OK, this wasn't necessary, but I went back to Ann Taylor. The manger was floating about, folding, refolding. I said, excuse me, I was here a little while ago, and we had this discussion about my return? You were not helpful. In fact, you couldn't have been less interested in helping me. I just wanted you to know there is a process for recovering the cash in a case like this, and it would be nice if you told customers how it works.
First, she denied that she was anything but pleasant, then she said, "Well, that's what I told you to do." I explained there's a difference between saying, hey loser, this is between you and the credit card company and pleasantly outlining a customer's options. I said, I'm telling you this so the next person gets better treatment. She managed to say thank you, and I scooted out of there for my hair appointment.
Me: Hi, I'm Donna. I have an appointment at 2:15.
Tressy: Uh, we had you for 1:15?
Me: Noooooooo! I confirmed! I confirmed!
Tressy: Would you like to reschedule?
Me: NO! I need a haircut!
Tressy: I'm sorry, but she's completely booked.
Me: A bang trim? Please? I'm desperate.
It was my mistake, but they worked me in for a bang trim. And it's not that I'm not grateful or anything, but they do look a little Buster Brown to me. Really, they're fine. I felt much better and made one last stop at White House Black Market, where I got the sweater jacket and cami as modeled in the photo. I like this outfit a lot and Mr. Blackwell approved, but whew, that was a long and winding road.
