Tag Archives: new fridge

Learning curve

You know I have a new fridge, right? I’m quite pleased with it, as it’s bigger than my old one, is much more ergonomic in design, and I also think it looks good. I’m mostly used to it now, and I think I’ve got everything pretty much arranged the way I want it at this point. But there are still a couple of things that I’m still learning about it.

For example, the freezer drawers. There are three of them. Because there are three of them, they are not very deep drawers. I’ve been having a bit of trouble arranging my frozen foods in such a way that all three drawers close properly. Everything has to be fairly flat, which has been quite the challenge for me. It’s particularly tough to get that vodka bottle flat enough so the drawer will close.

There is also no real spot for ice trays in any of the drawers. This fridge is designed to have an optional icemaker, which I don’t have. I don’t have it because I don’t have a water hookup to my fridge and I didn’t feel like paying big bucks to get that done. I can easily make ice cubes in my numerous plastic ice trays and I can easily fill a Brita pitcher with water and get a glass when I need it. I just don’t have a designated place to put those ice trays in any of the drawers – yet. They’re either mixed up with the meat and packs of frozen veggies or jostling for space with that vodka bottle. I’m still working on it.

And then, one day last week, I was sitting at my kitchen desk with my laptop, watching a downloaded episode of The Borgias. There was a stupid truck outside with its backup buzzer on. It went on and on and on: beeeep beeeep beeeep. I could hear it really loudly, despite my earbuds, and the noise really didn’t fit in with medieval Rome as depicted in The Borgias. I was getting mightily annoyed.

“Would you finish backing up already?!” I muttered snarkily. “Are you backing up all the way to Alberta?!”

Then something twigged in my tiny little brain. I glanced over at my fridge. One of the doors was slightly ajar. Oh – I forgot. Apparently there is a door alarm on that fridge. If one of the three big doors isn’t closed correctly, the fridge beeps to tell its distracted owner that, no, this isn’t the sound of a truck backing up, dumbass, but that you need to come and shut the damn door so that all your food doesn’t spoil. I slunk over in embarrassment and closed the offending door.

As I say, I am still learning my new fridge. I think it may have decided that I’m not exactly a quick study.


Delivery follow-up

So, to follow up on my misadventures with my fridge delivery a couple of weeks ago:

As promised, I did go back to the store at which I purchased the fridge and I had a lengthy conversation with a manager there. He listened, wrote down notes, and made sympathetic noises. He asked me some pertinent questions and assured me that he was going to speak to the delivery company’s manager, that I was NOT treated properly. He even asked me if I wanted him to let me know what the outcome was of this chat with the manager, even if it took a few weeks. I said yes. I was soothed. I returned home happy.

One evening this week, my phone rang. I checked the call display, which said “Unknown number”. Like most people, I usually don’t pick up calls like that, but for some reason I picked up this one. It turned out to be from what was likely the national customer service department of the store at which I bought the fridge. The man on the line wanted to ask me a few questions about my recent delivery.

It was actually in the form of a survey, where I was to rate various parts of the delivery from 1 to 5. Where I rated low, he asked for clarification as to why.

I rated many of the items highly, such as the appearance of the delivery guys, their timeliness, their communication with me prior to delivery. I rated them very low on my willingness to have them deliver an appliance to my home again, my overall satisfaction with the delivery, and the care with which I felt they treated my home – they wrecked my sliding glass door and made no effort to arrange for it to be fixed when they couldn’t do it themselves, after all!

The man who was quizzing me kept thanking me for my candor and willingness to answer his questions, as well as constantly reiterating that he was typing everything I said very carefully and how sorry he was that this situation had developed. These were very obviously pat phrases that he had very obviously been instructed to say at particular moments during a phone call such as the one we were currently having, so I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the level of sincerity after the first three times he repeated the same phrase. Still, my concerns were being noted, so that was okay.

After I hung up, I felt irrationally guilty. What if those two delivery guys were fired because of me? What if this delivery company lost its contract with the store because of my complaint? What if they went out of business because they lost that contract? What if I was responsible for a whole bunch of people not being able to pay their rent or buy food because they lost their jobs?

But what if I said nothing? What if this had happened before? What if it happened again, but something was broken entirely beyond repair or someone was hurt during the breaking? What if this delivery company was actually quite reputable and its manager actually would deal correctly with employees who weren’t doing their jobs properly if he or she only knew about it – or worse, what if the company had a habit of turning a blind eye to complaints about its employees?

I’m still not totally comfortable with complaining about poor service (except in my head, of course), but I am trying to remember that in this instance, I didn’t do anything wrong, those two delivery guys did. And I have the right to voice a legitimate complaint.

Don’t I?

Deliver me!

My fridge delivery, naturally, did not go according to plan. They were at my house at 8 am, so that was good. But everything else was not so good.

Because there are fewer stairs at the back of the house, I suggested that the two guys use the back sliding glass door that leads directly into my kitchen. That’s where the fridge goes, so that seemed logical to me. The guys thought that seemed logical to them, so they measured the width of the fridge and the width of the back gate.

The back gate had to come off.

They measured the width of the slider part of the back door. It had to come off as well. Except that they couldn’t get it off. Those poor young men struggled with it for about 45 minutes, trying and trying and trying. “It should just lift out!” one of them said to me plaintively. “We’ve done this a thousand times! This should be easy!”

Well, you’re not in Kansas any more, Dorothy, I was thinking. Only rarely are things easy chez Pinklea.

They finally gave up and decided to brave the stairs and sharp turn at the front door. They replaced the gate. They could not properly replace the slider part of the back door.

“It’s a little tight,” the one guy warned me.

I tried it. I couldn’t move it. “You can’t leave it like that,” I told them, a little miffed. “I can’t even move it. You need to fix it.”

They assured me that they would, after they brought in the new fridge and set it up.

Which they also couldn’t do, not completely, but it wasn’t their fault. You see, there is a baseboard molding on one side of the fridge’s allotted space, and that baseboard sticks out about three centimetres from the wall. That baseboard, while lovely indeed, made it impossible to guide the new fridge into its spot.

I had a solution for them. “Just take that baseboard off,” I said with authority. “I’ll never see that it’s gone, and there will be more than enough space then.”

They looked at me stupidly. “We can’t do that. We’re only allowed to remove and replace doors and gates. We’re not allowed to touch anything else in the house.”

I thought about offering them more money – okay, a bribe! – to take that baseboard off. But he continued, “Besides, we don’t have the right tools to do it.”

“It’s glued on, not nailed,” I said. “It would be easy to pull off.”

“We’d need a chisel.”

“Oh. I don’t think I have a chisel. Wait – let me make a phone call!”

I hurried off to phone PG. Surely he, former construction worker that he is, would have a chisel or two! But he didn’t pick up. Then I remembered that he’d told me earlier that he’d be working on his car all morning – something about head gaskets, I think he said. Obviously he wasn’t going to be able to answer his phone.

I went back to the kitchen. I was pretty sure that this would be a very quick and simple thing to do, so I wasn’t super-stressed about it. I told the guys that my boyfriend (I actually used that word! How I hate it! I’m much too old to use such a word!) would certainly be able to rip off that baseboard and push the fridge in. Just not right now. But they could finish putting the fridge doors on so that everything would be ready to go, couldn’t they?

Well, not exactly. They could put the top doors on, but not the bottom freezer door, because that door stuck out just enough that the way the fridge was currently positioned, there wasn’t enough room between the fridge and the opposite counter. There was only about 20 centimetres between – just about enough for me to squeeze through.

Fine, then. So they put the top doors on and carefully explained to me how the bottom door was to be attached. I wrote it all down. One of the guys then said, “The directions are taped right here on the side of the fridge.”

Oh. But it really did look simple enough for anybody to do. I was pretty sure that I could do it myself, if I had to.

“Now, can you please move the fridge out of the way so I can actually use my kitchen? I can barely get in there.”

“No. We’ve already put the top doors on, so we can’t move the fridge out much further without hitting the counter.”

Well, shit.

“So, could you fix that back door then?” I queried.

“No. We don’t know how to do that. We’ve never seen a door like that. You say your guy is in construction, so he can probably fix it.”

Um, no. You wrecked it, you fix it. If you can’t fix it yourself, you bloody find someone who can. It’s not my problem. That’s how it works, buddy. I didn’t pay an extra 50$ for you to wreck my sliding glass door too. That is so not what I signed up for!

I didn’t say it quite like that, but things got a little tense there for a bit. Finally, the one guy said that he would have to call someone about fixing the door and get back to me. “When?” I countered. “This afternoon,” he promised. “And what’s your name?” I asked, pen poised.

He told me and I wrote it down. Then he wanted me to sign some form. “What am I signing?” I asked.

He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “That I did the job.”

“But you didn’t,” I answered. “I understand about the fridge, you can’t finish that part of the job. I kind of thought that the baseboard might be a problem, so I get that part. But you did something to that door, and you haven’t fixed it.”

Still, I signed the form, because they actually had delivered the fridge, at least. And I wanted the two of them out of my house already.

They left. I didn’t tip them.

I called PG, who was still unavailable. So I called my friend Meshka’s husband and asked him if he could help me out. He graciously came over, removed the pesky baseboard, pushed the fridge into place, and attached the freezer door. Together we levelled the fridge, which was a bit of a tricky job. That all took maybe half an hour. Then he offered to have a look at the door. He quickly realized that one of the wheels that was supposed to follow the track on the bottom had been pushed up so that it didn’t connect to the track. He pulled it down. It connected and the door slid as good as new. That took him all of about five minutes. He also took the other piece of the baseboard that he’d had to remove in order to get at the offending piece and said he’d take it home to trim it with his circular saw so that it would fit properly next to the fridge, then bring it back and put it back on.

My friend Meshka is married to a wonderful man, isn’t she? I didn’t tip him either, but I did hug him very hard.

And did that delivery guy ever call me back about the door? What do you think??

I think there will definitely be a complaint to the store where I purchased the fridge. Oh, most definitely.