We bought a treadmill this weekend. The husband and I are tired of being unexercised six months of the year when it's frigid here in Minnesota. We don't have a gym membership, for several reasons, the main one being there isn't one here with a decent pool. Our local YMCA, for instance, has a pool with two lanes available for open swims. Two! Neanderthal. Anyway, so we bought a treadmill, and it came in a big cardboard box (which is really the point of this post, as you might have guessed).
This cardboard box has a triple layer of flutes (translated = superior). This made me very happy.
Now, while doing our comparison research, we were given one of these brochures full of information about the service plans offered by one company to help us more fully enjoy our new fitness machine.
Have you heard of the White Glove standard of service? According to the promises in the brochure, this is what it means to (apparently) regular people who value clean homes because, ostensibly, they already have clean homes (sorry, we cannot be friends because have you seen my home? It is not like yours.):
O gullible ones! Tsk. Here is what it really means to the enlightened:
So thank you, White Glove People, but no, I think I will decline your service today.
We haven't actually assembled the treadmill, incidentally, because it was found to have a defective part. The husband came into the house after unpacking it and said there was oil leaking all over the cardboard box from a crack in the console.
"Well," I said, "It will obviously have to be returned because the box is useless with oil all over it."
We called the company, and they said they would send a replacement part. They didn't offer to send a replacement cardboard box. Typical. Unenlightened service corporations.
P.S. Yes, I am working on completing those costumes. Tuesday, I think, they'll be finished. The question is, should I also make the shoes?