I know I promised never to talk about work here, but this story is just too good to pass up. And if I get canned for anthropomorphizing a piece of machinery, then something is very, very wrong with this world.

One of our servers tried to kill me this afternoon. I should have known it was coming. After all, we were removing it from the luxurious penthouse into which we’d so recently moved it and taking it back to the sweltering dungeon from whence it came. No more, the raised floors with conditioned air passing through to gently coax the heat away like a constant welcoming breeze. Cables cut exactly to length and precisely routed for maximum comfort and utility would become but a memory. Unending redundant power, forevermore to be denied! A taste of utopia, cruelly ripped away.

I should have recognized the way its arm clung so tenaciously to the rack as a sign of moral outrage. Even as I worked to sever the connection, it made its first attempt. A warning shot fired across the bow; it pinched the offending finger. Heedless of the danger, I continued with my actions eventually succeeding in wrestling the server from its berth. Helpless for the moment, it lay dormant in its box waiting for the chance to strike again.

It waited patiently during the trip across town, offering no resistance as it was transferred back into the ghetto of its youth. If nothing else went right, it knew the rules in this place. Silently seething, it bided its time. Its chance would come.

In fact, it waited until the last possible moment, when it was nearly too late to do more than resign itself to defeat. It waited until I grew complacent and lax, diverting my gaze as I prepared to turn the key once more on the door of its old cell. That’s when it struck, lashing out against that same finger. Only this time, it threw all of its weight behind it in a last, desperate attempt at freedom. Too swiftly for escape, it bit deeply into the end of my finger, tearing a sizable flap of skin aside.

I think I swore. I’m sure I yelled. You know that feeling when someone dips your finger in acid, rolls it around in broken glass, pounds on it with a hammer a few times and then lights it on fire? Yeah, kinda like that. And then my heart immediately shrunk itself by some arcane means and took up residence in the end of my bleeding appendage, throbbing the life out of me in a disproportionately slow ebb of A-negative ooze.

Still, even though it was well and truly bleeding, it wasn’t one of those things where you would immediately think it needed stitches. So, I washed it off, swabbed it with a little alcohol, and wrapped a bandaid around it as tightly as I could. Of course, the bandaid just accentuated the throbbing, but it couldn’t be helped.

Two hours later it was still bleeding and the flap was starting to look a little weird, so I decided to have it checked out. Just in case. There were a few people already in the urgent care lobby when I got there, but they ushered me right in. It didn’t seem right for only a gashed finger but, apparently, blood gets you to the front of the line no matter what. Ultimately, the doctor decided that stitches would only make it worse and signed me up for a tetanus shot instead.

I suppose it’s a good thing that the wounded finger and the shot both ended up on my off side. Typing is going to be a pain for a while, but at least my mouse finger escaped unscathed. And, in a few weeks I’ll have a new battle scar to wave in front of the other IT geeks.

I called the furniture store this morning to make good my claim, identifying myself by name before asking for the manager who was, naturally, unavailable. The phone lackey politely took down my name and number with the obligatory promise of a return call. For once, someone actually did. Although it wasn’t the manager, I was informed that my end table was sitting in the loading area of the store (forlornly) waiting to be picked up.

Unless I’d rather have it delivered. No, no, thank you. I’ll come get it. What are your hours today? Fine, I’ll pick it up after work.

AFTER loading the item into my car, I went back into the store to speak with the assistant manager on duty. She had no idea who I was. In fact, she apologized for it on the grounds that she talks to so many people every day… blah blah blah. Ever so calmly, I expressed my great disappointment in the service department, inviting her to read the email for the full story at her leisure.

She offered me a gift card. I pursed my lips and pretended to consider it while I waited. She hesitated. She hemmed and hawed a little bit, offering some nonsense meant to be placating. Again, I pretended to consider, but it was clear by now that I was waiting for something else. (An apology, maybe?) Finally, she expressed a desire to speak to the service staff about the incident, presumably in an effort to prevent it from happening again. It was clearly as close as I was going to get to an admission of fault, so I relented and accepted the deal. I even made a point of mentioning my high regard for the sales department, who really was tremendously helpful. The irony of that statement is that, although true, I mostly mentioned it to make her feel like she’d had a positive impact – like Fezzik versus the Dread Pirate Roberts.

When the gift card was first proffered, I nearly asked for a refund on the original delivery fee instead, but felt it was wiser to keep my trap shut lest the bitterness come raging forth. In the end, the credit turned out to be for double that amount. If whatever I exchange it for takes two months to arrive, so be it. All I really wanted in the first place was an apology.

9am email to the corporate office of the furniture store where I will never shop again:

On 6/25/06 I bought a bedroom set from the [local] store. When the delivery truck arrived a month later, only half was received due to a backorder on the end tables. I was repeatedly promised phone calls which never came. When I finally discovered two weeks later that my tables were sitting at the warehouse, I scheduled a transfer to the local store for pickup. On the appointed day, I called only to discover that they had instead scheduled a delivery to my house for the following weekend. Since I already had plans that day, I asked that the tables be taken to the store instead and was flatly refused. So, I rearranged my schedule. One end table was delivered (the other had broken). After they left I discovered that during the first delivery they assembled the bed 3 inches too close to the closet doors after having been asked to account for the tables. Again, I received no communication regarding the final table until I called and was told the series was discontinued. After several attempts to find someone who could help, I was told that there were still end tables available at the manufacturing plant and that deliveries occurred daily. Once again, I was promised a phone call when it arrived at the local store for pickup. That was last week. Frankly, I feel I have been more than patient with this process and it has been sorely abused. Unless a significant effort is made today by [your company] to fulfill my purchase and satisfy this customer, I will return the entire set.

Their response 2 hours later:

Thank you for contacting [our company] in [our home office].

The HomeStore in [your town] is an independently owned HomeStore. As such, the owners of the [local] HomeStore develop and implement their own store policies and procedures regarding customer purchases, deliveries and warranty claims.

I am concerned about your situation, so I am forwarding your email directly to the HomeStore manager.

And my final word as of 8:45 this evening:

Thank you for your prompt attention on this matter. Unfortunately, the local store made absolutely no attempt to contact me today, so I will be calling them tomorrow morning to schedule a refund and return. After sharing my experience with several co-workers and friends this evening, I discovered that mine was not an isolated incident by a long shot. You should know that this store is giving your company a very bad name. I, for one, will be taking my business elsewhere and will recommend the same to friends and family in the area.

Losers. And, just for the record, I’m going to do my best to make sure they pick this stuff up at -my- convenience. I’m perfectly willing to set it on the curb if they want to pick it up any other time.