When we moved apartments at the beginning of 2003, Peg and I decided to treat ourselves to a new bed. I shan't give the name of the outlet from which we procured our new mattress and box spring, but suffice it to say that the business in question shares its moniker with a diminutive colleague of Doc, Grumpy, Dopey, Sneezy, Bashful and Snow White. The mattress in question came with a twenty-year warranty. It set us back a sizable amount of dough, but the way we looked at it, we weren't expecting to spend any more money on a bed for at least the next decade and a half. Oh silly us.
Only six years later, Peg and I were finding ourselves deeply unsatisfied with the bed. Despite repeatedly flipping the mattress, it seems that the infrastructure of the bed had completely failed. Both sides now boasted hammock-like trenches. The pillow-top mattress no longer provided any meaningful support and wilted on the sides. To lie on it was a deeply unrestful experience. We reached the end of our tolerance. We decided to get back in touch with the afore-cited bedding business (who now -- tellingly -- no longer carried the brand of mattress in question). What followed was a long, protracted staring-contest over the legitimacy of our claim. They sent an independent mattress inspector (twice) to survey the situation. First they countered that the valleys in our mattress simply weren't deep enough, then changed their tune and said the mattress was stained (it wasn't), negating our claim entirely. It was a stalemate.
We asked a legal professional in the family to craft us a retort and fired that back at them. A week or so went by and they surprisingly got back in touch with an offer to placate us. It wasn't a full refund, but it was enough of a discount for us to feel good about. We couldn't really stand the existing mattress much longer, so we were eager to proceed. After some needlessly lengthy paperwork and an exhaustive test drive of replacement mattresses, we picked one and signed on the dotted line. Twenty-minutes later, they amended their offer, asking us to pick a different mattress. Incredulous but eager to land the plane, we dutifully picked out a second choice. Two days later, the new bed arrived. The delivery window was between 9am and 1pm. True to form, they didn't actually show up until 2:37 pm.
While we waited (and waited and waited and waited...) for the arrival of the new bed, we decided to let the kids do something they're normally not allowed to do; jump on the bed. Predictably, Lots of maniacal giggling ensued. Now we have the new bed. We'll see how long this one lasts.
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