Two days had passed since the Bunn coffee maker stopped piddling water across the kitchen counter. This due to my absolutely brilliant ability to not only troubleshoot and find the problem, but repair the leak with a few drops of common household glue. My arm was getting sore from patting myself on the back and so I shared the story with a friend, one who has a background in the medical field.
The friend informed me that he would never drink water or coffee that had been in contact with glue. Can definitely harm your liver he says. Hmmm. Keeping in mind that my liver has taken some major hits over time from the evils of demon rum, something akin to the Joplin tornado, I rethought the situation. Although the only parts listed in the Bunn user manual were things like a spray head and a carafe, I check out the Bunn web site anyway, just in case. I find the customer support pages and on it there’s a form to describe your problem and what part you need. AHA! I had to find something on the unit called a Date Code. That wasn’t easy. Picture juggling a device with a metal tube filled with scalding hot water and a warming plate that can take your skin off, all the while trying to find a tiny number on the bottom. I completed the form, hit the Submit button, and waited. Now under normal conditions, I’m a pretty patient guy, but waiting on e-mail replies from a major company is not one of my strong suits and after several hours of staring at my “in” box, I reluctantly dial the Bunn 800 number dreading the endless menus that I’m sure await me.
But no, the recording says to hold the line for a representative and within sixty seconds, I hear the voice of a living person. The woman with whom I talked—and I assume it was Mrs. Bunn—confirmed my fears. “I’m sorry sir, but we don’t sell replacement parts located near the electrical connections.” I wanted so badly to tell her of my qualifications, especially my FCC license, but knew it would be useless to buck company policy. Mrs. Bunn then asked if my coffee maker had a date code on the bottom. Thankfully, I had found it earlier.
“Your unit is under warranty” she says. “We’ll mail you a new one. Just use the box to return the defective unit.”
Whoa! What just happened? It couldn’t be that simple. There had to be a catch. Maybe like a $200 shipping and handling fee? Nope, that was it. New unit on the way. Happy days are here again.
Later in the evening, I happen to check my e-mail and right there at the top of the list is a reply from Bunn.
Dear Mr. Williams,
We are sorry you are having a problem with your Bunn coffee maker. A replacement is being shipped to your address. Please return the defective unit using the same box.
Holy Crap. I’ve been double Bunned. Sure, I could be the dishonest sort and keep both but what happens when Mrs. Bunn opens my empty box? Just from the sound of her voice, I knew I did not want that woman standing on my doorstep, angrily throwing coffee grounds in my face. I call Kim to abort the shipment. Too late, Bunn #2 has left the building.
Eventually Kim and I come up with a plan involving labels and forms to resolve the problem and everybody’s happy. Well, except for the UPS man delivering two coffee pots to my door in 113 degree heat. He might be a little pissed.