Fowler Bros Cleaners & Laundry

I had the misfortune to get my wedding dress cleaned here almost two years ago, and I’m still pissed off about my experience here. Walk with me here.
When I went to pick it up, I gave the woman at the counter my ticket, which should’ve let her know everything she needed to get my dress back for me. But since stupidity knows no bounds, of course it couldn’t be this simple. She asked me to describe the dress to her. I told her it’s a wedding gown — so white, strapless, with beading, etc. She disappeared for a minute, and came back to tell me they don’t have any wedding dresses there. I told her to look again. She comes back with a wedding dress that is decidedly not mine, and looks nothing like what I’ve described to her. When I told her it’s not mine, she looked at me and asked, «Are you sure?» This is when I started to lose it.
«Of course I’m sure, I just got married in it,» I exclaimed, so she tried to collect her measly IQ points and figure out what’s happened. After a more thorough search of the back room, she finally located my dress and brought it to me. It was missing both the padded hanger and the garment bag I had dropped it off in, but the clincher is that the dress was SAFETY PINNED to their cheap wire hanger. Gentlemen, I’m sure this will go over your heads, so I’ll spell it out. A wedding dress is a very expensive, treasured memento of the happiest day of your life. A bride will cherish that damn thing until death (or divorce) do you part, so she wants that sucker in prime condition. Seeing pins stuck through it, and the entire weight of a heavy dress resting on those little pins is enough to make a woman see red.
So there I am, clearly pissed off about the treatment of my dress. I then have to describe the hangar and bag to the unapologetic woman so she can attempt to find those, which she eventually does — and the bag is torn!
At this point, I’m so furious I can’t trust myself to speak, so against my better judgement, I pay and get the hell out of there before I start lobbing Molotov Cocktails made from leftover champagne.
Once I get home and do some Zen breathing, I call the manager and explain the situation. While he is all apologies, he refuses to refund my money or actually remedy the situation in any way, except to say that they found an un-​torn garment bag and that I could have that one if I want. Yippie.