For those of you who don't know, I have the most beautiful engagement ring in the history of the universe. A diamond solitaire with a thick yellow-gold band. Best of all, it is engraved with the phrase qamuSHa'qu which means "I love you very much" in klingon. Or should I say I had a beautiful engraved ring. It is currently being held hostage at the jewelry store. Why? Well it turns out that Barry's Jewelers the diamond super store doesn't do gold all that well.
Friday July 9
I took my ring to Barry's because there was a tiny crack in it - right at the S in qamuSHa'qu (where they sized it). There, I show it to a middle-aged woman with bleached blond hair and an unidentified European accent. Blondie took my beloved ring to the back to converse briefly with the mole people (I assume) during which time three people ask if I'm "being taken care of".
She returns. "It is broken" (duh) "You probably banged it somewhere."
This thing has been on my finger 24/7 since April so yeah, I probably banged it somewhere, but is this not supposed to be a high-quality piece of jewlery that will last me 50 years?
Blondie says that fixing the crack is no charge but I have to pay 10 bucks to have it re-inscribed. "Fine."
I have to write my name, phone number, and qamuSHa'qu on a slip of carbon paper. Blondie says the ring is guaranteed to be ready next friday (the 16th) and but she will call if it is ready before then.
Naturally, surrendering my ring depresses me so much I have to buy a girl action figure (I collect girl action figures). The girl I choose is this creepy woman called Angelique whose scalp has been partially peeled showing her skull. The scalp is being tied to her shoulders with wires. Poor Angelique, but at least you didn't have to surrender your engagement ring.
Thursday, July 15
The week drags by. I miss my ring terribly. I try wearing the giant ruby ring my grandmother gave me; I try wearing a mood ring. Nothing fills the void. My family and fiancé all agree that it is hideously unfair for me to have to pay 10 dollars for something that is obviously their fault.
I ask my fiancé to call Barry's and lay the heavy on them. Apparently the girl he talks to agrees that I should not pay a cent, but can't tell him if my ring is ready without the lot number.
I dig up the slip of carbon paper which (apparently) has the magic number on it and call myself. "Is my ring ready yet?"
I start reading out the most obvious number on the slip of carbon paper.
"Not that number, silly" (she didn't actually call me silly but it was in the tone).
I examine the paper and find the number 28 scribbled on the top. "Um, 28?"
"Your name please."
"And what was the item?"
"An engagement ring." Honestly, how many lot 28s do they have?
She holds the phone away from her head so she can pretend to check for me (I assume).
"Unfortunately we are so swamped that we can't get anything done even a bit early."
"But it will be ready by tommorrow?"
"Rest assured that if it was promised for tommorrow then it will be ready."
"Any time tommorrow will be fine."
So, the ring isn't ready late Thursday but it will be ready any time on Friday? Unless they are soldering and engraving at 1 am, this seems highly unlikely. They must mean "anytime they feel like it."
Friday, July 16th
I go over to my fiancé's house early so we can go to Barry's together before he has to work. (I figure if he's with me they're less likely to treat me like a quibbling moron). The store doesn't open 'till ten so I have an hour an a half before I can even call to check on my ring. Adam makes me a yummy breakfast.
Adam calls the idiot store at 10 am on the dot and asks if my ring is ready yet. "Lot 28....a solitaire engagement ring....under the name Jen McNicoll....okay, okay, okay....and when will it be ready?...ok, thank you."
Report: the ring is fixed but it isn't engraved yet. The engraver doesn't come in until 12 (lazy) so I have to wait until 2pm to pick up my ring.
It turns out Adam's work doesn't need him so we hang out and do fiancé and fiancée stuff until 2 (we play Rummykub). Finally it's 2pm and we go to the Mapleview mall to Barry's Jewelers and talk to a skinny guy with a blue suit and a bushy mustache.
"We're here to pick up lot 28, a solitaire engagment ring under the name Jen McNicoll."
Bushystache retrieves my ring from the mole people.
We told Bushystache about all the people who thought that paying ten bucks was hideously unfair.
"So you're not going to pay this ten dollars?"
"No, we're not."
Bushystache gives me a look as if I am the cheapest girl in the history of time but he surrenders my ring without the randsom money.
I'm happy until I see the inscription.
First of all it's all off to the side instead of centred. Second of all it says qamuSHa'gu instead of quamuSHa'qu! We show Bushystache and goes to ask the mole person to take the tail off the g. He even shows me the letters "q" and "g" so that I can see that qs are just gs without tails. After the kindergarten lesson is over Bushystache gives me back my ring with a big dent where the tail used to be.
"Okay, now get rid of the dent."
"What dent?" Bushystache puts the ring in a contraption so we can watch the ring on tv. The dent is even more huge and obvious.
"THAT DENT" (duh).
Bushystache shows the ring to the mole people. He returns. "This is not an easy fix. We have to add gold and redo the inscription."
"So long as you're doing that could you centre it please."
"Ok pickypants." (He didn't actually say pickypants but it was in the tone).
My fiancé pretends that we have an "event" to go to on Sunday and must have the ring before then. Good thinking Adam!
"We are so swamped here I don't know if it will be possible you should wait until after the event."
"No just do it now." The only reason they are swamped is because their rings are all cracked and dented with mispelled inscriptions. Idiots.
He writes Saturday?? on the carbon paper in big letters, as well as centre it please. I'm sure there's still something else they can screw up.
I want my ring back!!!