| All Praise Mr. Gollihur!
I have to take this opportunity to praise the one and only Bob Gollihur as much as possible, who made buying a bass a breeze, through many, many emails and phone calls, not once did Bob seem distraught or unpleasant to talk to. He helped me, a beginner choose a bass, bow and stand and get it all here in time for Christmas. I love my bass Bob, everything you did was great.
Well, I ordered it in the first week of December, was told it would arrive by Christmas, and the accessories arrived from Bob within days, but as the Engelhardt would be coming all the way from Illinois by truck and would arrive just in time for Christmas. A week and a half passed, my mother already stressed from holiday shopping and other Christmas related stresses, began to inquire of the status of the bass. I assured her it would all come in time, because that's how Bob worked and he's such a nice, honest guy (no lies here folks!) and that calmed her for a few days. Within a week of Christmas, she begins to become frantic at finding my bass, as it was my only gift along with a few CD's from grandparents. A phone call to Bob, an email to Bob, another email and yet another, and Bob was still pleasant. He even harrassed the folks and Engelhardt to get me a tracking number. With a bit of a hassle with the trucking company, we got the bass in time for Christmas and we were all elated at the quality and service brought forth by a single man with a scruffy voice.
<rant>
But now, I must rant: No complaints about Bob, nor Engelhardt, but the carrier they use to ship: Roadway, possibly the largest organized corporation of imbiciles and morons. Somehow, an enormous bass took six days from Illinois to New Jersey by truck, which is a seven or so hour drive with the most ferocious traffic. Then my bass ends up in Somerville, where I call, and call, and call and while my bass shows on the internet as arrived at the terminal, the truck was still en route. Dumbasses. So finally, after about five calls, they tell us the trailer arrives, and we're told they'll call us when and if they actually find the bass. Yep, I'm guessing they already misplaced a seven-foot box somewhere along the ride.
Two hours later, we recieve the call saying they found the box, and we could pick it up if we'd like because they don't work Christmas Eve or the day after. Instead of waiting 'til Monday to get my wonderful Christmas gift, my father and I drive down to Somerville, though we were given the wrong address...twice. One conversation gave us one address in Somerville, the next conversation gave us the address the next town over, and the internet provided a third address, all of which were on the same street, which we drove back and forth at least three times searching desperately in the range of each address. We give up, call them from a gas station and they give us a fourth address, and this time they're actually where they said they would be. Fourth time's a charm I guess.
We step in the front office which smells of beer and mildew, and are greeted by a beastly lady who apparently hadn't showered in days. While not only unhappy to see customers, she was less than enthusiastic to get us what we drove around town for. We had to provide two forms of ID, luckily my father was ex-military so we had an extra besides his driver's licence. Then sign or name here, here...here...and here, and then we were asked for a credit card because the factory had shipped collect. They wanted us to pay out of our asses for the bass...again. We insist that the package and shipping were prepaid, and only after ten minutes could they confirm that it was paid third party. No wonder... I didn't see a piece of electronic equipment in that room younger than I.
And then they tell us they found it, pull our Pathfinder around to the back loading dock and it's ours. And there's a guy standing there to make sure we get it, and as soon as we pull up, he vanishes to his warehouse of horrible blaring music. Didn't even stick around to help us load a ginormous box into a small SUV. Didn't offer us rope to tie down the hatch like we would inevitably have to, and didn't even help us load. Well, we didn't bring any rope, and noone stuck around to make sure we had any, so former Boy Scout me, unlaced my shoes and tied down the rear hatch of our Pathfinder and drove a half hour home, windows rolled down, tailgate half open in thirty-five degree weather, hoping my shoelaces from a $45 pair of shoes would hold up.
Long story short, my fingers were numb, I dealt with a bunch of braindead people, and I'm never dealing with Roadway again, end of story. Go UPS!
</rant>
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- Timothy P. Lyons
Your Neighborhood Friendly Candyman
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When did Illinois get relocated into Western PA?
Congrats on the Bass!!! I've still got some time to wait on mine. I went through similar hell picking up a 7 week old puppy from Delta freight.
