Off Branding

Thanksgiving for 5 ways fun and pretty easy. However, the turkey sucked. It was so bad, I got my money back from Pavilions. In all honesty, the turkey is the least favorite part of the meal when there's stuffing, mashed potatoes, string bean casserole, yams, cornbread, roles and gravy, not to mention pumpkin pie with whipped cream. But the turkey should be tender, moist and delectable. This one was tough, sinewy and dry. I should have been mildly suspicious when I went to order it, and the man behind the counter told me there was the choice of Zacky Farms or Butterball. I said I wanted a 14 to 15 lb. Butterball and he left and came back and gave me the name of a brand I didn't recognize in the size I wanted, but he said, "they're good." So I told him I'd pick it up Thursday morning. The second warning sign went unheeded when I noticed a tiny hole in the packaging when the lady handed it to me Thursday morning. The third warning sign was when I was checking out, the lady behind me told the checker there was a big puddle on the floor at the start of the line. "Did that come from my turkey?" I said. I couldn't tell, because there was not a puddle on the conveyor belt. The checker rang me up, double bagged my turkey in plastic, and I brought it home. It smelled fresh, and did perhaps look slightly darker than my previous turkeys. Another red flag ignored.
I cleaned it, dried it, smothered it with butter , oil, salt and pepper and put a cut up apple in the cavity. There were no directions on the packaging like the Butterball turkeys have, but no worries, I've cooked plenty of turkeys in the past. I basted it every 30 minutes and at one point, the skin on the wing was breaking. Not a good sign, I sing song to myself. There was not an overly abundant amount of juices on the bottom of the pan, and I took that as a good sign. Juices are staying in a good turkey, right? So when it hit the right temp on the instant read thermometer, I deemed it done. Letting it coast awhile, then having Hubby carve, I mash the potatoes and yams, put the roles on the table, gather the dressing and string bean casserole out of the oven, have another glass of champagne and ask as he's slicing, how's the turkey. "It's OK," he says. It wasn't OK.
Everything else was really good, though, so I was semi blissful.
The next day I start a movie, but then remember, I want to go back to the store to ask for my $30 back. That's a lot to pay for something that's embarrassing. So as I go to the car, Hubby says, "Give them hell," knowing he's kidding. In my head, I'm going to bat my eye lashes and be humble and sweet while I tell them in the most descriptive words how sucky the turkey was. Now, in the past we have had roaring, laughing moments about my force of nature when it comes to customer service. Years ago, when I was dealing with the Oreck company, we had a joke that when I call, the sirens go off and the loud broadcast is, "THIS IS NOT A DRILL. DEBBY THOMPSON IS ON THE PHONE."
I got my $29.01 back from the manager after very little description. And as I left, I put $4 in the Salvation Army's little red pot.