Master of the Amazon

I was relieved when the UPS guy finally dropped off my vacuum cleaner from Amazon. Finally, I could clean. My carpets were on the threshold where they might begin to trigger my allergies.

And, it's new stuff. Everybody loves new stuff. Oh boy.

I'd ordered the unit for $50, on sale from about $80. It isn't the most durable appliance around, and it isn't one of those fancy against-the-laws-of-nature Dyson models, but for an apartment of the size that I have, it was perfectly functional.

Man, it picked up a lot of stuff. I took the box out to the dumpster and stowed the vacuum in the corner.

But the next time I pulled it out, while undulating the electrical cord, I noticed a defect. A small chunk of rubber was missing on the cord. The white insulation underneath was visible and fraying. Convinced that it wasn't the fault of a giant rat with an appetite for rubber, I realized that this was obviously a problem. The cord heats up considerably during use, and would be a bit of a fire hazard.

I got on the computer and wrote to Amazon. I told them of the problem, offered to send a picture, said disassembly and thus reboxing/returning the item would be nearly impossible, and asked for a discount.

One of Thomas Friedman's little buddies, Rajiv, wrote back. He apologized for the trouble and offered a 20% refund.

But no one keeps his money by surrendering to the corporation.

I countered with an explanation that the parts and labor involved in repairing the cord was worth more than 20%, and pushed for 40%.

Another of Thomas Friedman's proofs that globalization is great replied. He agreed to 50% and processed the refund.

A few weeks later, the vacuum's price on Amazon went back up to over $70.

I paid $25. "Parts and labor"?... a bike ride to Sears for an 80 cent roll of electrical tape.

And that's partly how I managed to swell my savings on a graduate assistant's wages.