Returns

I am writing today to appeal your rejection of my refund on a returned item that you say you have no documentation for. It has been some time since the whole incident, and because of many fraught circumstances, I have no access to the original paperwork. I did, however, follow your instructions in a timely fashion as to the return and was backed up by a full “Satisfaction or Your Money Back” guarantee by MightyMammoth.com. My actions were meticulously “by the book,” whereas yours—I might be so bold to suggest—were sorely lacking and included many lapses in judgment and execution.

To start from the beginning: I ordered your premium-quality “Helpmate Lucy” #737410 and was told to expect delivery in approximately three weeks. We can quibble about what “approximately” means, but seven weeks later would not be approximate by anyone’s estimation. When she finally arrived, I was out of town. The driver opened my Mighty Mammoth garage door with his universal remote as they have always done. He stored the plasticized, soft-shelled container upright in the corner. I never received a notice that she had arrived, even though you have my cellphone number as well as my email. Nothing at all. In and of itself, that would not have been a problem—this item is stackable and storable for quite some time in normal temperatures until it is activated. However, Lucy’s manufacturing number indicated that she was perilously close to her sell-by date. Three days later, as per the emergency manufacturing protocols, Lucy’s activation was initiated remotely. The problem was that without some external ability to open the package, quite a bit of heat was generated. In short, a small fire was started. I think it must’ve been Lucy’s hair that went up first, and then because the package was stored upright beneath a fire sprinkler outlet, a torrent of water was set off. Lucy became animated and was trapped in her packaging as it filled with water. At some point, the fire now out, Lucy was probably close to drowning (even though the specs tell us that this item has a better-than-average ability to hold its breath). It was then that the soft-shelled box must have fallen over, spilling her out onto the cement floor, where she began to flop about like a fish.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—my neighbor, Dave, happened by and saw her through the glass garage door. True to his rather irritatingly pushy Boy Scout persona, he smashed the window, crawled through, threw himself on her naked body, clamped his lips to her mouth, and breathed life into her. She took her first real breath and opened her eyes, and as described on page 102 of your instruction manual, the imprinting circuitry so craftily installed by you worked like a charm. Her eyes settled on Dave, and she fell in love, much like the way a baby duck might think a house cat is its mother if it’s the first thing it sees—following it around forever or at least until it gets eaten.

Therein lies a tale, as they say.

At this point, you have to admit that Lucy’s usefulness to me was null and void. Satisfaction definitely not guaranteed. I notified you about the mishaps as soon as I returned from my trip and sent in the return documentation as requested. Unfortunately, I was unable to box Lucy back up for pickup because Dave had absconded with her. This is theft, pure and simple. And you must admit that, even if she was placed in my garage, I never really took possession of her. I did, however, initiate the kill switch which, after some study of the instruction manual and a search of the packaging, I was able to locate. As much as I detest Dave, I have to say that the reports I’ve heard through the neighborhood grapevine seemed quite traumatic. How was I to know that they were in the middle of lovemaking when the kill switch was activated? It was midday if I remember. And in some ways, I don’t really blame Dave’s hyper libido; even with some charred flesh and burnt hair, Lucy still must have been a sight to behold judging by the photographs and specs online. Apparently, Lucy’s orgasmic throes morphed into ghastly convulsions and then lapsed into a terrifying morbidity. I really had no choice; as the registered owner, I was responsible for Lucy’s actions and could be held liable for any misconduct, even though this has never happened with this model—ever.

Yes, I’m sure it was traumatic, but it still did not warrant what happened next. What happened next is part of the problem I’m having in making good on a full refund on this returned item. Dave, an avid Second Amendment kind of guy, showed up at my house and shot me repeatedly in the chest with a very large and noisy handgun. And then, I’m told, set fire to my house (paperwork gone!). I managed to stagger out onto the walkway so, even though I died, my body was intact. Ten seconds after my heart stopped beating, as advertised, a signal was sent from my implanted Mighty Mammoth GPS-coordinated wireless alert, and a courier picked me up (if only they had been that prompt on the delivery side). I am only relating this to let you know why there’s been such a delay in my subsequent correspondence. I’m quite aware that I voluntarily signed my Recycle-Right paperwork twenty years ago and was paid handsomely for the option on my lifeless body. Fair enough. It put me through school and gave me a graduate degree that was quite lucrative.

Subsequently, I have been rehabbed and given a new heart (a twin-rooter cast aluminum beauty, almost indestructible, which, it’s interesting to note, would keep on beating even if I was crushed by a bus and would only stop when someone came along and yanked the leads off the battery). I was designated as a salvage job, just like Lucy, and put up for sale while waiting to be activated. Obviously, I have no memory of this, nor any memory of my former life. I pieced it together after I was purchased and happened to connect with Dave on social media—a very active part of his life while he rots in prison. I do, however, possess some of my old skills as a forensic accountant (call it muscle memory if you will), and it’s those abilities that I’ve used to bring all this to your attention.

I guess I’m saying that you shouldn’t underestimate me.

The figure of 2.5 million is really only for material compensation and loss. I am not asking for pain and suffering or any kind of punitive damages at all. I think that’s more than fair, given your almost criminal negligence in this matter (I have suffered, and even if the older gentleman that purchased me treats me very well, you have to admit, given my former profile, living the life of a gay man and full-time maid was never my intention nor desire).

I know that arbitration can take a long time—the average I’ve heard is around thirty-two years—so let’s please get the ball rolling on this. I am aging at a slower rate than most humans, but still my time is not infinite. Looking forward to your reply.

Sincerely,

Helpmate Hank #723654, formally known as Carl Wetherby