The House Project saga continues. As recounted by the Good Doctor F.

This episode is being brought to you by dancehall guru Tiger Ranks.

So.
After we drop $2500 at Standard TV and Appliance last weekend, they deliver
the wrong steel fridge and then just try to get me to just accept it
instead. I track down the shitheel who sold it to us (after the receptionist
tries to put me off several times by explaining that “he is with a customer”
like that is some delicate surgery or medatiative type endeavor that cannot
be disturbed when in reality he is trying to talk up the features on a
shitty white $119 microwave to some slack-jawed dullards) and according to
him the fridge we wanted and had discussed for thirty minutes with him is
apparently unavailable. He had a week to call and tell us this but insted
tried to pull the old bait and switch.

This after yours truly had taken the
doors off the smoke stained old lady fridge that came with our house and
packed the food in coolers in the yard, waiting all morning for the delivery
people to rub their two remaining brain cells together in a feeble attempt
to spark an impluse that will shift their attention from the McDonald’s
feedbag and find our house on a M-A-P. As the delivery guy is proudly
unveiling the wrong appliance on the taligate of the truck, my dog is busily
shredding a cookie bag and I am shivering on the neighbors porch in my
pajamas, learning from my Eugene Levy look-alike neighbor that he can park
in front of our house and the pavement in front is not in fact “your yard.”

I refuse to accept the fridge and then later return the other shit (a
dishwasher and garbage disposal) in my own truck right through the front
door, loudly proclaiming that they are “either shady or uninformed or some
combination of the two.” They try to keep me away from the other customers
as I increase in volume and wave receipts and the store manager has to be
summoned to expedite the refund transaction. His tan turns from golden
brown to white as he sees my unshowered, dirty pants and dirty boots giant
bearded yelling self right in the front and center of the store where they
take their first bite out of you as you some in the door. He straightens
his shitty tie on his pink (!) dress shirt and hems and haws that my girlfriend
said on the phone he had until Monday to make it right. I tell him
“bullshit on that.” These are our last words to each other. Bastards.
Never go for the bait and switch and never get out of the fucking boat.