"Is this the hill you want to die on?"
I asked myself this question yesterday after fuming over a voice mail message I received from a large home building supply store, I won't use their name, but it rhymes (more or less) with Chrome Repo.
The above mentioned message was in reference to a refrigerator that Poseidon and I ordered, scheduled for delivery this weekend. Well, needless to say, Chrome Depot doesn't call customers merely to wish them a grand day, so I knew something was amiss. The call was to inform us our appliance is currently on back-order and Chrome Repo regrets having to postpone the delivery until April 5th. The woman leaving the message was pleasant enough, and for a second, I believe she actually felt bad for having to call with the news that our yogurt and vegetables will go to rot before our refrigerator is in place.
I was upset, and I'm not sure why, except that I had a childish sense of entitlement to have the appliance that we paid a handsome sum of money for (refrigerators I've newly discovered, are not cheap), delivered on the date agreed to.
I phoned the Chrome Depot customer service department back and told them the new date they gave me was not acceptable because either Poseidon or I will have to take off work to be there. I asked why they advertise the product online as "available" if it was on back-order? I was smoking angry, but I took a breath and told her I would check with their competitor--again, I won't use the company's name, but it rhymes with Blows--and if they had a comparable fridge in stock I would cancel my Chrome Repo order and go with Blows. She was very apologetic, but nothing she can do. I believed her.
Minutes after the call I was still piping mad and I was ready to call Blows to see if they could do anything for me. My face was getting hot and my blood was boiling. Then I asked myself the question: "Is this the hill you want to die on?" It's a refrigerator. Do I want to expend anymore energy by calling Blows? The principle of the thing had me keyed up and over the moon with annoyance, but we've survived a few months with a semi-broken fridge, we can survive another week.
So, no. No, this isn't the hill I'm choosing to die on. The hill we will be making out of our moldy vegetables, fetid chicken, and rancid milk might make me regret giving up without a true fight, but I'll march on to the next battle. Now, if I can only find a flautist to accompany me.
--Fortuitous Observer
