On the 8th Day of Christmas

I’m not a horrible procrastinator but I do cut things pretty close (yes, there’s a difference) — there just isn’t much room for error or regrouping.  I have lists upon lists, divided into sub-lists, and that keep me on track.  If something unexpected goes awry, though, the wheels can quickly fall off the wagon.

And so comes the tale of  how a certain home furnishings company almost pushed me over the edge of holiday sanity yesterday.

We’re hosting 20 people for Christmas dinner.  I’ve never done this before — we always lived in an apartment in Manhattan and simply didn’t have the space.  So while I was excited to have my hostessing debut this year, I hadn’t planned on a massive work deadline basically killing any and all Christmas productivity last week.  I’m behind, let’s say.  But that’s OK — I keep adjusting my lists to put us back on track.

So it was yesterday morning when I said to P that our new area rug for the dining room should be arriving any day/minute.  After months of back-order waiting, it was to have shipped on December 13.  P raised a suspicious eyebrow and thought maybe it was a good idea to check on the shipping status of said rug.   I was sure it was just on the slower end of arrivals due to holiday shipping volumes.  We still had four business days to receive it.  That’s an eternity in Fordeville Productivity Time (as the race to purge the basement continues, almost approaching reality show levels of entertainment).

You can see where this is going.

Let me back up a minute.  You know when you find the *perfect* item for your home and you’re just dying to get it in place?  That’s how I felt about this rug.  I loved it.  I knew it was going to look fabulous.  Silly but true.  And we needed it, not only for acoustic purposes (hardwood floors + 2 toddlers = hearing loss) but also to finish off the dining room where 20 people will be sitting on Saturday for Christmas Dinner. 

Again, you can see where this is going.

I called the company around lunch time yesterday, order number in hand.  A very nice, if not overly mellow, woman named Marilyn typed it in.  Awkward pause.  Then, a far too casual and sort of disbelieving:  “Oh, wow, look at this.  Nobody called you?”

Blood pressure rising.

I assured Marilyn, whom I was quickly starting to dislike, that nobody had called me.  It was at that point that she said this:  “Looks like that rug won’t be shipping until May 30.”

Excuse me? 

I was pretty good, I must say — maybe because I was experiencing denial, as I saw no room in my sub-lists for “purchase new area rug for dining room that you will like just as much and have it arrive by Christmas.”  No dice.  Surely Marilyn was wrong.

Nope.  May 2011 it is.  She felt a little bad, but not at all approaching the level of “let me do something to make this up to you” that I needed in that moment.  Marilyn, you sort of suck.  And I think you are on too many meds because you have a dulled sense of compassion and urgency.  You are also oblivious and  numb to my impending freak out session — which I will try very hard not to take out on you.  But I think I hate you because I have nowhere else to direct my anger right now.

Now I am thinking irrationally.  I know nothing about rug-making but, let me assure you, this was not some custom-loomed Persian magnificence that I ordered.  It was a nice area rug from a large American home furnishings company that sends a catalog to each of you on a regular basis.  I also know nothing of the production chain process in retail.  But somehow my line of questioning toward Marilyn took this turn:

“Well, I’m confused.  Why May?  How can it take that long?” (Mentally,  I added: “Is someone flying to the Far East and hand weaving these — a person who won’t start doing so until, say, mid-March?”) 

Crickets.  Sorry, Marilyn, I know you can’t answer these questions.  It’s not your job to trace my almost-rug’s origins and production path.

I try begging.  Maybe there is just one rug left somewhere they could send to me?  Just because I can’t find time to buy another.  Come on.

Uh, no.  May 2011.

Fine.  At this point I muttered something about  her company ruining Christmas.  She said, distantly, “Oh.  I’m sorry.”

Look, I know I’m being dramatic.  I don’t *need* the rug.  This is not what Christmas is about.  I get it.  Before you tell me to have some perspective and think about, say, Rwanda, I assure you, I am well-aware of how stupid my disappointment is.  I’m pretty sure that my 20 guests won’t walk in and demand to know why I don’t have a dining room rug.  But I’m Type A and I like things how I like them.  And I don’t like adding to my well-crafted lists unexpectedly — especially on December 21.

And clearly Marilyn’s place of employment became the cathartic outlet for my holiday stress.  We all have one.

I gently suggest the following to my nemesis Marilyn:  “How about this?  How about if I find another rug of yours that I like, in stock, you send it to me overnight with no shipping charge.”

Marilyn thought that was a fine idea.  How novel.  Maybe she can use that sometime in the future, being in customer service and all.

In the end, it wasn’t about the rug.  I get that.  We all have our holiday breaking points and anything can set them off.  And I know if left myself just a little more breathing room, a little more leeway for things to not go smoothly all the time, this stuff wouldn’t get to me.

Anyway, I resolved not to spend too much time fixing the whole situation.  It just wasn’t an option if I wanted to have food on the table Saturday and stocking stuffers for my kids.  I took 30 minutes, scoured the Internet and found an almost-identical rug — in stock at a location near our house (read: no crazy overnight shipping).  And, at half price (thanks, Santa — or karma)! 

P is picking it up today, and I will think of Marilyn not-so-fondly as I walk over it and inevitably spill all kinds of things on it this Christmas.