Refund Rantings!

I have had it. The time has finally come to take a stand in this matter. Enough is enough. I don’t see why I should be stuck with a defective product. Am I not entitled to some customer satisfaction? Is it so unreasonable for me to demand a full refund for something that I am not happy with? Ok, so I don’t have a receipt to show as proof of purchase to the store. Big deal! Well, come to think of it, I don’t even have a store to take it back to but that is hardly the point.

Be honest and answer these for me. What would you do if you buy a product that falls apart at your first touch? Will you not be outraged? Will you not march straight back to the store and scream for a refund? Yes, I am mad as hell but once you know my reasons, you will understand why. I am not given to such angry outbursts often. Folks usually find me patient and mild-mannered. But in the past few months, my patience has been wearing thin and for a good reason.

I am in my thirties, look the picture of health on the outside and put together like a very cheap and tacky Burma Bazaar watch on the inside. If it is not my gallbladder, then you can be assured that it will be my foot. Fix the foot and watch my shoulder tendon snap. Heal the shoulder just in time to hear my voice croak. Treat the voice only to have the doctor pronounce my knee cap ‘inflamed’. Do you know how tiring it is to keep a mental list of all the failed parts of my body? And that is why a big whiteboard is hanging on my kitchen wall now so I can save my voice and report my daily health failings to my family. Mm/dd/yy – problem part –symptoms is the format that I am using these days.

I have a nagging suspicion that God outsourced the manufacturing of my body parts to China. Why? Because the way I am falling apart like a wet sand castle at the beach characterizes all the items sold in ‘Dollar’ stores across the United States with a stamp ‘Made in China’. Or maybe He entered into a secret partnership with the giant pharmaceutical industry with a promise to manufacture 'me' who will help drive their stock prices up by using every medicine that passes through their factory floor. Either way, I smell a stinking conspiracy here.

Call it paranoia but recently I have started noticing that every time my husband looks at my father, there is an unspoken admiration in his eyes that seems to say ‘How did you know when to unload her onto my head?' Mind you, there is no malice, only an acknowledgment laced with awe for my father’s timely great escape.

Yesterday, I heard my husband pleading on the phone with an insurance agent to allow him to buy additional insurance for me. Poor guy! I really do feel for him. He is so traumatized watching me disintegrate right in front of his eyes that he has 911 stored on his speed dial. And of course, all credit goes to his unique begging skills for securing fully approved credit accounts with all the local hospitals where the lovely staff insist on buying us all little trinkets during each of my visit. Their love and affection for us come as no surprise to me. After all, they do owe me big for the generous bonus they get every year.

Coming back to the point, I refuse to take this injustice lying down anymore. I hereby file an official complaint against God for manufacturing me with so many defective parts and demand a full refund from Him. Did I hear you ask 'What refund?'. Well, all I want in way of a refund, is for Him to take out all the substandard parts and put back limbs, bones and muscles that actually function according to specification. All I want is to not fall apart like a Lego tower carelessly built by a 2 year old. Is that too much to ask?