Many happy returns

I handed the monk $50, then thinking back to the page he showed me out of his catalog for extravagantly priced Swiss pens, I handed him an additional $25. To be clear, this was not a purchase. Rather, it constituted a donation to the monastery. You see, he offered me the pen as a gift, if that’s what I desired, and as a writer I appreciate a good pen, but as a capitalist raised in America, I also crave a smokin’ deal. Eventually the Catholic in me stepped forward to negotiate a settlement. I would pay the full catalog price (plus a bit extra) to avoid leaving any indelible mark on my soul.

I must say, it is an exquisite pen, a Caran d’Ache, imported from Switzerland. A black ceramic casing, hexagonal in shape, the most expensive pen I have ever owned. I carried it home all the way from southern New Mexico, this awkward purchase that defined the depth of my Catholic guilt – and at least until the pen’s cartridge eventually ran dry and my thrifty Midwestern upbringing refused to pay the price for a replacement, I’d be satisfied. I had been hustled by a monk and with God as my witness, one of the seven deadly sins must have been violated. I’m just not sure which. 

I used the pen continuously for at least a week, signing my name and doodling, getting the feel of it, and it felt good until one morning when twisting the pen’s stock in the usual manner to expose the writing nib, I found myself nibless. I twisted it again, experimenting with various amounts of pressure, pulling the pen apart and shining a flashlight up its, well ... let’s say its tubular structure for lack of a better description. The pen was a dud. A black lemon. A flat note in the choir invisible.

Immediately my sense of moral outrage demanded a refund. For a short period of time I was irate, until I got to thinking about it. I couldn’t drive back to the monastery, tucked into a patch of the Gila National Forest over 700 miles away. Not for $70. And worse, I’d never been given a receipt, though I do remember the monk giving me his blessing. 

 The problem with this time of year is that much of America has been gifted with shoddy merchandise. But it goes on all over the world, and no doubt since the beginning of human history. Noah probably sold his ark after the flood on the assurance that the smell would go away once the lumber fully cured.

Many customers will be forced to stand in long return lines, praying the retailer will at least bestow a store credit.  It’s a frustrating and humiliating experience. For one thing, it’s psychologically debilitating to have to rehearse your dissatisfaction in polite terms. You can’t just arrive at the counter and say, “This is stupid, take it back.” But if you manage to pull off a refund, you will then be required to affix your signature to a form, as if submitting an affidavit certifying that indiscretion is part of your nature; you return things, and maybe you do it for profit. 

My experience with the pen showed me what’s wrong with the American business model: it is obsessed with cutting corners, and its commitment to customer satisfaction often extends only so far as the nearest exit. Their eternally updated policies send customers in circles, designed to wear them down. 

Because no viable location existed for any Caran de’ Ache distributor or repair facility nearby, I had no choice but to contact Switzerland. I explained the genesis of my troubles. To my surprise I received a prompt reply, asking for photos of the pen. I grabbed my camera, digitized my sorrow, and attached it to my email. 

After a series of rapid communications, a woman defined by her patience explained that no solution could simply be mailed to fix my defective pen. I would have to send it to Geneva, where it would be repaired, then sent back to me. Like many Americans, I suspected a subtext of additional fees, exorbitant handling and shipping costs, and who knows what maze of hurdles to clear in order to achieve a modicum of satisfaction. You know, the usual State-side three-ring circus when it comes to returning merchandise. But instead of a bitter pill, the Swiss handed me sweet surcease:

Dear M. Feela,

It will be much faster and we will not charge you anything

for the repair and the return postage, you will just have to pay the shipping to Switzerland, that’s all.

Not only did my pen find its way back to me in perfect working order, the package contained two complimentary replacement cartridges. What I had expected never came about and what came about I could never have expected. Corporate America, figure that one out.

– David Feela