I Wonder If Staples Sells It Cheaper?

Yesterday I ordered a drum unit for our fax machine at work, which was flashing a dreaded “CHANGE DRUM SOON!” message. I wasn’t sure if it would escalate into a “CHANGE DRUM IN ONE DAY!” and then a “CHANGE DRUM NOW!” message, so I ordered the drum unit to have handy in case it needed to be changed at an unforeseen and inconvenient moment.

The drum unit was approximately $200, but I had already waited as long as I dared before ordering it.

We order from WB Mason, which is pretty easy. I type up an order, fax it over, and the next day the items get delivered straight to our office.

Lately, though, I’ve had some problems with ordering. One day I got everything I had requested except the 3 boxes of copy paper. I got everything I’d typed on the order form above the copy paper, and everything typed below the copy paper, but no copy paper.

When I called the customer service rep, she told me that sometimes the faxes come through with lines through them, so they miss some of the items. Apparently they don’t bother to call you to ask about “that wavy line in the middle of the order form that might or might not be something you want.”

At any rate, my drum unit arrived today in a large cardboard box. I thought it was weird that they had packed it in a big box, but then, I’ve gotten a small pack of pens in a giant envelope from them before, so I figured this was just another example of Corporate Packaging.

I signed for the delivery, and looked at the packing slip. ONE DRUM UNIT, it said.

I went into the supply room where the WB Mason man had left the box. I opened it up.

Inside the big cardboard box was a single, lonely, black binder.

My first thought, I’m sorry to say, was to blame the delivery man. I immediately assumed he had given me an order meant for another customer on his route. And somewhere on his truck, waiting to arrive into a stranger’s hands, was my drum unit.

I was all set to run outside and stop the delivery man, perhaps with some kind of large gesture involving throwing my body in front of his vehicle, but I glanced out the window of the supply room just in time to see the WB Mason truck pulling away.

“Great,” I muttered to myself, and stomped away.

As I’m often talking to myself or making strange faces as I think about what I need to do, no one at work paid any attention to this behavior. Then again, I also work at a place where one of the lawyers sometimes stops walking on the way to the water cooler to practice imaginary golf swings in the middle of the reception area.

I looked at the box more carefully. The sticker on the side had our company name on it, and also had “ONE DRUM UNIT” listed as its contents.

For whatever reason, whoever had packed our order had decided that “ONE DRUM UNIT” corresponded to a black binder.

I called WB Mason, who told me they would send out a drum unit later that day and pick up the binder.

“But will we get billed for it twice?” I asked. “I mean, according to the packing slip, I already got one drum unit.”

“No,” the customer rep said reassuringly. “We already billed you for that one, and now we’ll credit you. And then we’ll bill you for this new drum unit.”

So WB Mason ordered a drum unit for us and charged us for a drum unit, but gave us a black binder. Only in corporate America can you pay $200 for a single black binder.

Posted by: ssjane | November 9, 2005 | 9:07 pm
Posted in: This Life