An open letter to Pottery Barn

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Dear Ceramic Farm,

I don't like you. I didn't want to register with you. But because there were no plates of the "proper" material that everyone could agree on at the other places we registered we were forced to go to your store. And while everyone and their mother (well, actually not everyone at all, just their mother) insisted that we go to Crate and Barrel, I insisted that we go to your crap-fest of a store. Not because I like you, no, but it just didn't seem to make any sense to register at a store that we don't have either in New Orleans or in the city where my entire family resides. But hey, that's just me.

So we went to your store and we actually found some plates we liked and we asked your perky but highly unknowledgeable sales-person if we could start our registry. She professed her ignorance about registries and gave us to a "manager." Though I use the word manager very loosely because I'm pretty sure she couldn't manage algae if you asked her to.

We waited for FIFTEEN minutes to get the paperwork and then after filling it out, waited at least another FIFTEEN minutes while your "manager" entered the information into the computer system. When she finally finished what I can only imagine was a pointer-finger typing festival, we got the gun and registered.

We took our "gun" (and I use that loosely too, because it doesn't have bullets, otherwise there would be at least one less person in my life now) and went over to our dishes, which naturally, in the 16 piece set, didn't have either a scan or a skew number listed anywhere. So your "manager" looked it up, after spending 5 minutes trying to tell us to register for each plate separately and everyone would just magically buy an even number of place settings. She then gave us the skew and assured us that it would be online.

We picked out a few other items so that our whole registry wasn't just your dishes and then we left. The next day I logged into my account to modify my registry (read: to re-register for the things that we actually wanted rather than the ones that we were required to register for) and imagine my surprise when my account password didn't work. Imagine my greater surprise when I sent you an email asking for my password, only to have to tell me that my email account isn't in your system.

Imagine my even greater surprise when The Fiance called and discovered that the only information in the system was our names. Just out of sheer curiosity, how exactly did you expect our gifts to reach us if we DIDN'T HAVE A SHIPPING ADDRESS? And moreover, when I finally got into the registry, I found that those dishes, those ones that we opened up this God-forsaken registry for weren't even FREAKING AVAILABLE ONLINE.

I'd just like to take a moment to tell you how much I appreciate you adding to my craptacular morning of registering. I mean, what could be worse than spending the entire morning having everything I picked up criticized and put down? Oh that's right, spending an hour doing that at your store AND THEN HAVING IT NOT WORK RIGHT.

In closing I'd like to tell you that I'm closing my registry with you, but the future-mother-in-law offered to buy all the dishes in person (I'm thinking mostly because she doesn't trust us to pick out new dishes without her there, because if they're not porcelain the whole freaking world would come to a screeching halt) so I'm not. But I'm going to be sure to bitch about it a lot, as often and publicly as possible because then I feel more indignant and self-righteous.

So there. Take that.

Not-even-a-former PB Shopper


Anonymous said...

Ah, ya see your mistake was going into a real store in the first place. I've gotten so spoiled with shopping online that if this was available 23 years ago, I wouldn't even register with a store I couldn't buy stuff online from.

On the other hand, if your UPS guy is like mine & throws boxes, maybe you don't want anyone sending you your dishes that way...

kim-d said...

Ummm...not to harp on one subject, but...

Why was Cruella de MIL registering with you? When did that turn into a family project? Okay, am I hopelessly out-of-date and old-fashioned when I say I thought the couple were the ones to formulate their registry. Man, Katie, no wonder you're visibly popping your invisible stitches.

I say this because I love you and, well, because you know me well enough that I CAN say this to you and it would just be wrong of me not to--you better find your voice with this woman or she is gonna steamroll all over you. FOR.THE.REST.OF.YOUR.LIFE. And you will then know TRUE.HELL.

Just something to think about, but never substitute my opinion for your own. HAHAHA!

Anonymous said...

UGH! I think I should introduce you to my very good friend Kellee. After many years of going through much of what you are and more she finally blew a gasket. Said, MIL, said to Dave (DH to Kellee, DS to MIL), what is wrong with her family that they didn't buy any of you Christmas gifts this year? Is a good thing that I bought and gave you enough this holiday and all year to make up for what they didn't do. What kind of parents are they (I kid you not MIL said all of this). The reason behind a giftless Christmas is the fact that Kellee's dad is terminally ill and what money they do have (he lost his job a few years ago) is spent keeping there home, and paying for medical treatments for his terminal liver cancer (which she knows about). So, I should forward you the letter Kellee sent to MIL which basically said I won't go into the kind of parents they are NOT but instead the kind of parents they are. Needless to say, Mother was not happy when she realized what impact her words and how they could not be taken back. Perhaps she should read the story, Mr. Peabody's Feathers written or maybe retold by Madonna. Finally, someone stood up to this evil women. Okay, maybe this was not my place, but Katie, you and Dr. Fiance are first and foremost. I don't think Mother will ever say anything like that again. It ended up costing her a lot more than she ever bargained for.