Wyszdom

I had an interesting shopping experience with Amazon during last year’s Christmas season, and I’m finally getting around to blogging about it. I think my takeaway from this whole story is that even though I received a bad product, the fact that I was able to talk to someone at Amazon and get a refund made what could have been a really bad experience a forgivable one.

The last time Amazon impressed me with their customer service was with an unsolicited refund. This time, it was another refund, but with a different story. Don’t worry, I don’t ask for refunds on all of my Amazon purchases. I’ve purchased hundreds* of items from them over the years, and I’ve only asked for a refund once.

My mom wanted Badgley Mischka perfume for Christmas. I found it for a really good price on Amazon. In fact, the price was suspiciously good, about half the price of what department stores were selling it for. However, I didn’t know much about perfume, so I figured it might be one of those items like jewelry or candy that has a huge markup. Another suspicious signal for the item was a review which called the product “fake.”** Despite all of this, I placed the order since it was a “Ships from and sold by Amazon.com” item and figured I could always return it if it was bad.

When I got home for Christmas and opened the package, I wasn’t confident that I’d be able to spot a good counterfeit, but fortunately some things stuck out right away.

The logo on top of the box was smeared.

And the logo on one of the inner boxes was smudged as well.

This alone wouldn’t have made me doubt the authenticity of the product (having nothing to compare it to), but considering this along with the price and review, things weren’t looking good. The next test, of course was to smell it. My mom had given me a scented magazine ad for it, so I tried to remember what that smelled like for my test.

How do you test perfume? I couldn’t spray it on myself, because if I went downstairs and smelled like perfume, my family would think I was weird. I think that some people spray it on their wrists as a test, but I wasn’t sure how long the scent would last if I did that. I needed something that wasn’t attached to me. So, I sprayed the carpet on my floor and smelled that. It didn’t smell like the ad. At this point I was mad at myself for purchasing it from Amazon after seeing the warning signs. I took it to my sister for her analysis.

My sister didn’t think that the perfume smelled bad, but she noted that the bottom of the bottle had a sticker instead of an engraving. She also found the disfigured logos suspicious. At this point, my fears were confirmed and I decided to return the product. Because it was too late to buy from somewhere else before Christmas, I wrapped up the Amazon version but told my mom what had happened. When she opened it, she noticed that the cream that also came in the box didn’t have a scent, but when sold with perfume it’s supposed to have the same fragrance.

I typed in Amazon’s “Returns are easy!” URL and clicked on my order. There was no return option next to the perfume, but there was a link directing me to the return policy. There, I found a list of items that can’t be returned, which includes fragrances. I went to the contact us section to ask for help, and used the option to have Amazon call me. A live person called within a minute.

I explained the situation to the representative. She kept asking me to describe what was wrong with the product, and it was hard to tell if she didn’t believe me or was just trying to take good notes. I thought she would sound a little more surprised to hear that Amazon was selling something counterfeit, but she was still pleasant. I was caught a bit off-guard when she asked me what the perfume smelled like. How does one describe a scent of a perfume over the phone? I started off with “Well, I’m not an expert; it’s for my mom…” but perhaps I should have described it as having a full body with a crisp finish.

After she was satisfied with my description, she said that I would receive a refund (I did) and that I could keep or throw away the perfume. I still wish I hadn’t placed the order in the first place, but the refund was relatively painless and at least I got a good blog post out of it. If you’re an Amazon employee reading this, feel free to look up my order history or email me if you want to investigate, especially since it looks like Amazon is now selling it directly again.

Fake on the left; real on the right.

*While doing some quick research to confirm this fact, I clicked on an old email from Amazon to see what I had ordered. It was What About Bob? on DVD. I had my parents rent that movie a lot when I was a kid.

**There are now a couple more reviews noting that it’s fake.

I’ve only had three different hairstyles that I can remember. I transitioned to my current hairstyle when I was a teenager, and I remember how it happened. One day, my mom took me to a different stylist instead of my usual barber. I don’t know if she had briefed the stylist on what she wanted for me ahead of time (I’m assuming that she did), but I went and sat in the chair when it was my turn, having no idea what I wanted or what was going to happen. The stylist began asking me questions using terminology that I was completely unfamiliar with, which made me nervous since I didn’t want to sound like an idiot. Fortunately, she phrased all of the questions in yes/no form, such as “Would you like me to do a…,” so I could fake my way though the conversation by confidently answering every question in the affirmative. About 20 minutes later, I looked in the mirror and saw roughly what I’ve been looking at for over a decade. To this day, I still use the same technique of always agreeing to whatever the stylist wants to do.

When I moved out to California, it wasn’t practical for me to go to the same places I went in Pennsylvania (in college I would wait until a trip back to PA to get a haircut), so for the first time I had to actually describe my desired style to someone. I had put off getting a haircut for as long as I could, because haircuts are awkward. When I arrive, I feel stupid when they ask how they can help me, and I say “I want a haircut.” What else could I possibly want? And then the waiting room is awkward, because there’s not really anything to do but pretend to be busy on the phone. Once in the chair, I don’t know where to look. Do I look at myself? The stylist’s face? The scissors? Other customers? And what about talking? Is it cold and unfriendly if I sit there in silence? Do I have to make small talk? Do we talk about hair? And then I always get an itch on my face, but it’s kind of a pain to get my hand out from under the sheet. Do I just wait it out? The whole experience is just horrible.

Since I had let my hair get pretty long before finally going in to get one for the first time on the West Coast, my usual “like this but shorter” wasn’t going to cut it as the style was a bit unclear after several weeks of growth. Anticipating this problem, I dug out my JHU student ID which had made it out to California with me. On the ID is my high school senior portrait, taken at a time when my hair was freshly trimmed the way I liked it. For the first few months, any time I needed a haircut, I brought the ID with me, showed them the picture, and told them to make me look like that. During that time, I picked up the first of three important pieces of information. That fact was the name of my hairstyle. Once when showing the picture to a stylist, he or she described it as “Caesar.” At that point, I was able to stop bringing the photograph with me. There was still some confusion around the length of the hair though. The stylist would often ask me how long it had been since my last haircut. I never had any idea. I don’t even know how long it took me to get to work this morning. This was before the iPhone had been released, so there was not even the possibility of looking up my last check-in. So, I would just tell them, “You won’t cut it too short,” since in many cases they’d leave my hair longer than I preferred. It’s like when I order pancakes and tell the waiter that the chef won’t cook them too much, even if they’re burnt. Finally, I picked up the phrase “finger length” when one stylist used it. So that’s two pieces of information: the style and the length. The final piece of information again has to do with length. One stylist asked me what size length guard  I would like her to use for the clippers on the back and sides. I told her that I didn’t know, but described the length and told her to tell me which size she used, so I could specify it next time. She said, “Oh you guys never remember.” She used size #2, and I haven’t forgotten that. So now, I can confidently walk into any hair salon and confidently say, “I like it Caesar on top, finger length, with #2 clippers on the back and sides.” The only thing that still throws me off is when they ask me if I want it to be rounded or straight in the back. I always answer the same way, “Whatever you think looks good. I don’t have to look at the back of my head. Make something you’d want to look at.”

For the most part, this has worked out pretty well. Except for that technique I developed as a teenager: always saying yes to whatever the stylist asks. A few weeks ago, I went in for a haircut. As the guy was cutting my hair, he asked me if I liked it longer in the front. I had no idea if my hair was usually longer in the front; I figured that perhaps they layered it. Ever since I was very young, I have admitted that I don’t know how this stuff works, and that cutting hair is a special skill. When I was about five years old, I got some scissors and decided to cut my hair. I still remember doing this. I was sitting in the corner of our family room, and, just before I made the cut, I remember thinking to myself, “Should I do this? Is there any special technique to cutting hair? No, you cut it and it gets shorter. I can’t mess this up.” I messed it up. I didn’t cut any of my hair again until a few years later when I randomly decided to cut my eyebrows and eyelashes. I think that one freaked out my mom a little more. My point is that I don’t know about cutting hair. So when the stylist asked me if I wanted it longer in the front, I assumed that I did, and it looked fine. It looked fine until the very end, when he got out some gel, put it in my hair, and spiked up a triangular-shaped portion in the front. It did not look like my normal hairstyle. It looked like something a 14-year-old might ask for if he’s desperately trying to look cool. Of course at this point, there was already gel in the hair, so I assumed that it was too late to do anything about it. I got out of the chair, paid for my haircut, and even left the standard tip. I knew that I had to do something about it though.

Driving back towards my apartment, I kept looking in the mirror. I hated the way it looked. I stopped at Subway on the way, and noticed that the person who helped me, at a location where everyone is usually very friendly, was pretty cold and quiet. He wasn’t mean, but I think he thought I looked like someone who would be a jerk. I would have preferred a mullet at that point, and I almost explained to him what had happened. I didn’t, though, and went back to my apartment. After eating, I immediately headed to the bathroom mirror to figure out a solution. I thought that the best thing to do would be to cut the hair while it was still gelled up, so I would cut it properly to match how the finished product would look. After clearing the raised triangle, I realized that I had cut that area shorter than the rest of my hair. Not wanting to risk an endless series of adjustments or messing things up further, I didn’t cut any of my other hair to compensate. I figured a shorter triangle was better than a spiked triangle, and knowing that my hair fortunately grows quickly, figured I’d just wait it out and within a week or so it would be at the length where the difference wasn’t noticeable. I briefly considered going to another stylist to have things cleaned up, where my plan was to blame the bad haircut on my girlfriend who tried to cut my hair. (It’s not mean if she’s not real!) I didn’t get it fixed, and within a couple of weeks, it was at the point where I couldn’t really notice the difference in length unless I pulled up my hair with my fingers.

Today, I was due for a haircut. I was glad that the bad experience was over, and knew that I should refuse any offers to leave it longer in the front. Shortly into the haircut, the stylist, who was not the one who helped me last time, pulled up the front of my hair and asked, “What happened here?” I pretended that I didn’t hear her. “This area here is really awkward,” she said, “Why is it shorter? What happened?” I didn’t want to admit what I had done, especially since she seemed nearly disgusted by what she was looking at, so I simply said, “I think the last guy misunderstood what I wanted,” which, in a way, is still the truth. The next 15 minutes were spent trying to dodge questions about the situation, such as “You got your hair cut here last time?” and “It was a guy?” Fortunately she didn’t investigate too deeply into who had cut my hair last time, but I’m definitely going to have to avoid that location for several months in case she remembers me and wants to continue her investigation later by asking me to identify the culprit. But she still could not get over what she had seen, and said, “I had to ask because maybe you like it that way. Some people like weird things.”

One of the most awkward parts about all of this was that I knew I would have to blog about it, because I thought the whole situation was hilarious, but I didn’t want to have to explain all that to the stylist. So for one excruciating haircut, I had to fight back the urge to burst out laughing.

“Hey, have you ever tried meatballs with Cheetos?”

This is what the sandwich artist at Subway asked me tonight as if it’s something he really thought I’d like. He then explained how they make the meal nice and crunchy. I thought this was a funny thing to ask a seemingly random customer, but then after I thought about it, I realized that I probably would like that.

“I’m like a conspiracy theorist who doesn’t believe in conspiracies.”
- Ted Skuchas

I’ve never been comfortable giving or receiving compliments. When I get one, I feel like I need to either even things out by immediately giving one back, or make things even less even by using a comeback as if I was just insulted. And when I want to give one, I will often say it sarcastically, because again, I’m more comfortable with insults.

I’m really weird.

I saw Cars 2 tonight. It has been receiving mixed reviews, so I was happy to find out that I enjoyed it. It’s not my favorite Pixar movie, but it’s still good. The imagery that Pixar is able to pull off has obviously advanced, and even though I still grumble about 3D, the extra dimension didn’t bother me in this film, even during scenes with fast motion, which in other movies has caused an annoying flicker. And of course there were many creatively funny moments. I especially enjoyed the Towkyo scenes.

That’s where I stand on Cars 2. I’ll soon let you know how I feel about Final Cut Pro X, which is also getting a mixed reception. I’m currently using it to edit a new cooking episode.

Me: What did I tell you about living in the cloud?
Sandy: Did you just tell her, “What did I tell you about living in the cloud?”
Me:  Yes.
Sandy: Is this another one of your racist things?

Whenever someone has just had a baby, they always hook you up with some stats: What time it was born, how long it is, and how much it weighs. I guess this is meaningful to some people, but to me, whenever someone gives me any kind of information about a baby, I just see the same generic baby in my head. I don’t know how to process the information differently depending on the values of the different variables. However, I’m not criticizing parents who do this. Because to be honest, at this point, there’s not much to say about the new person yet. They haven’t invented some cool new gadget or resolved an international conflict. At this point, the only accomplishment of this baby is existing and taking up physical space. So, I guess length and weight are pretty good.

Last week, I had a typical Wysz experience.

I was invited to a party that attracts the startup crowd, including founders and investors. Being in the tech business, I figured it would be fun to attend. Plus, I had this funny idea that if anyone asked for my card, I could hand them an OnlineHaircuts.com business card. I didn’t expect anyone to believe that it was a legitimate business, but it could be a good ice breaker. So, at the last minute I ordered some business cards from MOO. Of course, being a party in San Francisco with people I don’t know, I was still lacking a true reason to want to go there, other than the fact that I thought it might lead to some interesting conversations. But, since I had already told people I was going, I got in my car and drove up to the city on the night of the party. Traffic wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible. Once in the city, I got to play the fun driving game of wondering whether or not it’s safe to go at a green light, since there’s a good chance that the light will turn red again before the car in front of me lets me clear the intersection. I ended up doing pretty well. After miraculously ending up in the right lanes at the right times, which can require looking ahead a turn or two on the GPS, I found myself outside the venue. All I had to do at that point was find parking. I started looking around for a garage. I didn’t see any, so I just kept driving. I came across some parking signs, and followed the arrows. After several blocks, I still didn’t see any parking. At this point, I started grumbling about how I don’t like driving in the city, and I should have parked in San Bruno and had Uber drive me from there, and I don’t really like parties anyway, so maybe I shouldn’t go, but I guess I have to go since I told people I was going, but no, I’m an adult now and I can do what I want, but maybe to avoid embarrassment I will just imply that I went, kind of like that time I was invited to a high school graduation party and I went but only stayed for ten minutes and then got lost on purpose so it would take me a long time to get back home. Eventually, I got far enough from the venue that I was able to safely justify to myself that it was too far away to park, and that I should switch the destination in my phone back to my apartment. I did that, and of course on my way out of the city I ended up in traffic in the wrong lane, and, not being an aggressive driver or the type who minds getting lost, went ahead and kept going in the wrong lane, which eventually took me to Treasure Island, where I turned around in a parking lot and got back on my way. This was my second time driving up to San Francisco and back without getting out of my car. Once back in Sunnyvale, I got a meatball sub at Subway and went to bed early. That may not sound exciting to some people, but for me, it was a pretty awesome evening.

I’ve only used it once, but I am already a fan of Uber. In fact, I liked it before I tried it. The way it works is first you register for an account and install the Uber app on your phone. When you want to go somewhere, simply open up the app, which finds your location via GPS, and request a driver. A comfortable town car will then be dispatched to your location, and you can watch the driver’s progress in real-time on the app, and even call them if necessary. Once in the car, you let the driver know where you want to go, and they take you there. When you arrive at your destination, simply get out of the car. No cash or tipping; the fare is automatically charged to your credit card. You can then use the app to rate your driver. (And they can rate you.)

If you’ve ever heard me talk about the unpredictable experience of riding an American taxi before, you will see why I like Uber. The first time I tried it was on a trip to the airport. I pulled out my phone, and set my location. This part of the UI needs a little work; it kept choosing an address on the other side of the street, and if I moved the marker too far, trying to force it to be on my side of the street, it would snap to a side street. I then requested a ride, and was told that Ronaldo, the driver, would arrive in six minutes. I was able to track the driver via GPS, and six minutes later, he arrived on the wrong side of the street. He didn’t see me, but that was no problem as I just tapped on the “call driver” button and let him know to do a quick U-turn. After that, it was a quick and friendly trip to the airport, and my receipt was emailed to me. A cool line item on the receipt was “Rounding Down” as they round down the fare to the nearest dollar. I saved 96 cents.

When I returned from my trip, I got in the regular taxi line at the airport. I was treated to a ride with a driver who was on the phone the entire time, communicating with me via hand motions to ask where to go, and a handwritten sign on the meter that simply said “CASH.” What a contrast.

Of course if you look at their site, you’ll see that the main reason you would go with a more traditional form of transportation over Uber is the raw price. But remember, the lowest price doesn’t always mean the best value, depending on what you value. Since I need a ride infrequently, using Uber isn’t going to make me go broke, and the last time I called for a regular cab they never showed up. Uber’s customer service is pretty sweet too. They noticed that I was once unable to find an available car in my area, and proactively contacted me to make sure we were still cool.

I’ll be spending some time in San Francisco this week, and while I don’t expect to have any transportation needs, if I do, I think I’ll choose Uber. Oh, and in case you came across this post looking for a pre-arranged pickup solution in the San Francisco area, Uber doesn’t offer that (that I know of), but PlanetTran is good.