Sad Sock

Well, I feel stupid.  

And when I feel stupid, I do what any normal human being would do—I expose my stupidity in public, which is why I’m telling you what happened instead of focusing on what I should be doing—packing my suitcase for my trip next week. Mainly, I’m procrastinating.

I’m flying to my destination. I don’t usually fly because . . . I don’t like to get arrested. Freedom of speech isn’t allowed in airports anymore, and my mouth is always wanting to get me in trouble with the TSA.  (Fun fact: when read backwards, TSA stands for American Security Theater.) If freedom from unreasonable search and seizure was still a protected right, the TSA and I would have a better relationship. But it’s not, and I worry that if I stand up for freedom, I’ll live to regret it.

However. Sometimes flying is a necessity, so I’m leaving my trusty truck at home and zipping my mouth. Here’s the thing. I’m at the age where any travel, especially flying, is more comfy if I wear compression socks. I’d hate to admit that if not for the fact that they make my legs feel good, and feeling good, like happiness, is worth the pursuit.

I needed some new socks and usually I order them online. Here’s another fun fact. I don’t like shopping anymore, especially in stores. The internet and the pandemic have both made it a lot easier to let my fingers do the walking and the mailman do the delivering (although we both know how risky that one is), so I wander around the worldwide web a lot, hoping for a new mailman.

Sometimes that’s a really stupid idea.

I thought I was being smart. I looked at a couple of sites and read the reviews. People seemed genuinely happy with the version I settled on. People lied. When the socks finally arrived and I put them on, they weren’t as compressive as promised, especially in the feet which was my main concern anyway.

How do I say this? While the socks covered my legs as expected, the feet were apparently designed to fit a platypus. I kid you not. I put them on my hands, stretched out my fingers as wide as a piano octave, and there was still loose sock left over.

Who has feet shaped like this?

And these socks weren’t cheap. I was careful when I pulled them out of the package so if I needed to return them I could. I needed to. But that’s when my fatal mistake surfaced—I didn’t order them through Amazon with its stellar customer service and easy return policy. I didn’t know where this brand came from and had to dig through my emails to find contact info. I sent off an email explaining that the socks didn’t fit (shocker) and I’d like to know how to return them.

I got an answer this morning.

From a platypus.

 

Dear customer,
Sorry for the unsatisfied purchase.

We understand the inconvenience and harassment that get unsatisfied item.

 

Hoo boy. Right away I realized where these socks came from. I just didn’t know their feet are shaped like this over there.

 

We offer no-hassle returns. You may return most items (unused) in their original packaging. Please note the cost of return shipping is not included. Shipping costs and additional service charges are non-refundable.

 

Shipping costs were one quarter of the entire price. My profit margin was shrinking right before my eyes. Boy, did they ever see me coming.

 

Note: Please do not send the item back until we authorize the return with the return address in the email. The address on the package is not our return address. Do never send the package to that address, or we will not be responsible for the loss.

 

It’s hard to believe that after all my years on planet earth, I can still be taken in by sheisters. But I can. Why are they using a return address that doesn’t belong to them? I could make a pretty good guess. Not only that, and this is really hard to admit, but this is the second sock company who sent me socks that weren’t worth sending back, not even for a complicated refund. Also, doesn’t anyone believe in relying on a good editor anymore?

From now on, I will “do never” do business with Facebook companies again. 

 

If you would like to keep this product after knowing the return policy, we will refund you $5 as compensation, which we appreciate.

 

And this is the point where I laughed out loud. Even they don’t like their socks. In fact, they would appreciate it if I keep them. It’s worth five bucks to them if I do. So, I clicked on the button at the end of their email, “I accept your offer,” (which was one of three buttons, all agreeing to make their life easier by throwing their socks away myself.) Soon I’ll find out if my refund will arrive with Honest Abe’s face on it or if it will sport a picture of Penelope Platypus instead.

We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this experience may cause and ask for your understanding.

 

Oh, I understand completely. There’s a sucker born every minute and my minute was about six decades ago.

I think I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t put too much stock in sock reviews and only order through Amazon. I understand, Platypus Sock Company, and in all sincerity I accept your apology. Thank you for your creative version of support hose and entertaining return instructions. 

May I suggest, though, that in the future you find a good editor and refrain from weaving support socks for marine mammals?

It’s gonna cost you a lot of five-dollar bills if you don’t.

Objects seen above contain actual foot-age. If you're a platypus.