The Power of Kindness

Last year for my birthday, my mom offered to help me buy a good recliner. The one I had gotten from my local Buy Nothing group had kicked the bucket, so off we went to a handful of furniture stores. Like Goldilocks, I sat in a dozen or more before I finally found one that I really liked.

Of course, it was more than I wanted to spend, but I decided to get it anyway. My hip had really started to deteriorate, and it was important that I have something to sit in that was comfortable with good support.

Within a month of arriving, the footrest began to squeak when it returned to the hub. I called Value City, where I’d purchased it, and they sent someone out. After futzing around for a half hour or so, he told me that he needed to order a part and that he would call me when it came in.

Two months later, I had still heard nothing.

I called the store and they sent him back. He did not remember me or the chair, or saying that he was going to order a part. Again, he futzed around, this time with a couple of trips down to his truck, and the result was he couldn't figure out what was wrong and encouraged me to tell the store I needed a new chair.

“They'll call you when it comes in,” he said on his way out.

The following week, I got the call that the chair had arrived. But when I asked about delivery, I was told that because I did not use their delivery service for the original chair, I would have to bring the old one back and pick the new one up myself.

I explained my mobility issues and that I didn't have anybody that I could ask to do this. The customer service rep put me on hold to ask the manager but came back and told me they couldn't help.

By now, it was the beginning of November, and my body was on a serious downhill slide. The pain had really set in and to be honest, I just did not have the capacity to fight them. I accepted that I would hear that annoying squeak every time I sat up in the recliner.

They tried to reach me a couple of more times between December and January but I didn't answer the phone. I really had to be judicious about where I spent the limited amount of energy I had. Fighting them wasn't a priority.

Fast forward to the middle of May, eight months after I had ordered the new chair, and I get another call from Value City. The man on the other end of the phone introduced himself as Terry and said he was calling to remind me that my new chair was still in their warehouse.

I wasn't especially kind as I recanted the tale of being refused delivery. He, like the other employee last year, put me on hold to check with the manager. As expected, he returned telling me that they could not deliver it.

I told him I appreciated his reaching out to let me know the chair was there, and I would never be shopping there again.

To my surprise, he called me back the next day and asked if he could find a way to get me the chair, would I still want it? While I appreciated his effort, my hip was worse than last year, the pain was off the charts most days, and I didn't know that I wanted to put myself through breaking in another chair.

But that squeak was seriously annoying.

Ultimately, I called him back and told him I would be delighted to take him up on his generous offer. Before we hung up, he said, “I have a question for you. Do you like Italian subs?”

“Well, that's completely random,” I laughed, “but yes I do,”

“Then I might have a surprise for you.” I could hear his smile through the phone.

A week or so later, in the middle of bad storms on a Friday night, he called for permission to take the chair out of the box so it fit in the car and in less than a half an hour, the intercom rang.

Terry looked to be in his late 40s, short and wiry, but strong as an ox. He introduced his friend Zach, twenty years younger, tall and thin. He explained that he didn't have a car but his friend had been willing to drive.

Together, they hauled the new chair up from the parking lot and assembled it after removing the old one from my apartment.

During the conversation we had while they were here, I asked Terry what he did at the store. “Oh, I work in the warehouse,” he answered. “I'm just a grunt. The lowest of the low.”

As they were wrapping up, Zach unzipped his backpack in the hallway, then handed me a bag from Jersey Mike's. “Terry said you like Italian subs, and I work at the one nearby.”

I told both of them how much I appreciated them going above and beyond to get me the new chair. “It's just how I was raised,” Terry explained. “When you buy something you deserve for it to be perfect.”

We chatted for a bit before Terry realized it was almost eight thirty. “I've got to get the other chair back to the store before it closes,” he said. I thanked them profusely and we said our good-byes.

I locked the door behind them as they headed back out into the rain, my faith in humanity restored.

May we all have more experiences like this.

P.S. I’m ramping up to produce readings of the final two short plays from the full-length work, Choices on August 16th. Both in-person an video tickets will be available. Stay tuned for more info!