A sales delight

Being the white people that we are, Lady T & I decided to do some shopping for the new place.  She has “helped me” liquidate some of my current furnishings (a couch, love seat, dresser & 8 grocery bags of clothing) in order to make room for new stuff, namely living room furniture.  We made our Hajj to Ikea in Frisco, TX to find some stylish, appropriately middle-classed fare.  After a couple of hours in the store, our cause was lost.  Yes, we picked up some knick-knacks, but we needed some serious items! A chair(s)! A couch! A coffee table! A mattress! A futon for the guest room! (note: we’re both technically opposed to the idea of a futon but after sleeping on a futon from Ikea, we were willing to reconsider)

All of our dreams for those items collapsed.  None of the couches were right.  The mattress, being too large for the car, only shipped in-state & to ship it to Tulsa would be $318 for shipping & handling alone.  We couldn’t find a chair we both liked although I’m laying the groundwork for this bad boy. (Lady T: if you’re reading this, I value your opinion & in no way mean anything sinister with that previous sentence.  Kisses!)   We realized once we sat on the futons: “Oh, that’s right! We hate futons! We forgot!”

Heading back to T-town with our heads hanging low, we decided to hit some local furniture stores.  As fate would have it, we drove all the way to Frisco & back (just from OKC) in one day to realize the furniture we wanted was in Tulsa.  We first visited the giant fustercluck that is Mathis Brothers.  We were immediately pounced upon by the salesman who “moved the most inventory last year but I’m not knocking these other guys…but I’m the best.”  Literally: these were his words.

After escaping his grasp, we wandered around & found a couple of chairs we liked.  As soon as our asses hit the fabric,  salesman #2 appeared with the kind of stealth to make Voldemort look like Helen Keller in an antique shop.  He was able & willing to give us the status update on these chairs, the special they were running, the sales pitch & a litany of other facts.  We said thanks & kept looking.

Wandering over to the beds, we laid down on one, only to be interrupted by salesman #3.  He blathered about sleep stages, delta sleep & his position as the top mattress salesman.  His 5 minute pitch gave me Lady T ample time to bury plenty of farts into the floor model.  We rose from the bed & made our way around the store, chatting about our options.  Without having to look too hard, we noticed salesman #3 hovering quite closely.  We made our way back to the chairs we liked & again, as soon as our asses hit the fabric, salesman #3 sat in a chair right across the aisle from us, no more than 7 feet away!

He just sat there silently while we talked & gave him nervous peripheral glances.  As soon as we looked right at him, he started up again.  Deciding that we wanted the mattress, I fell on the grenade & accompanied him back to the bedding area, leaving Lady T to take photos of the chair.  Being the #1 mattress salesman, he deployed his characteristic charm to sell me on the protective polyurethane pad with this little gem: His 2 year old spent the night with him at his apartment (a place which I will dub the “Virginity Cave” in spite of his son’s existence) the previous weekend & barfed all his bed.  Thanks to the polyurethane cover, not a drop got through to the mattress. SOLD! So keep that in mind all you barfy toddlers when you come over and…wait. That sounded wrong. Great, now the FBI’s going to catch wind of this. Shit, I hope I don’t get derailed from blogging this time because of prison.

Anway, as #3 is ringing me up, I notice that #1 & #2 have gathered no more than 20 feet away & are crowded around a cell phone listening to some “jamz,” judging them with such reviews as “hot” & “that’s tight.”  Finding it odd that they were doing this not only on the clock but out on the showroom floor, I turned back to the paperwork.  After a few more minutes, I look up to notice they have moved behind me to an opposite aisle & are even closer than before.  Making eye contact with #2, I realize what an impala must feel like right after it has been caught by a predator but just before it becomes a carcass.  I took their unintelligible banter to be the sounds of jackals.

After we left, we headed over to the poorly-named Sofa Mart.  Dammit if they not only had better inventory (we bought a couch & coffee table), but the staff was great!  Tex was right: we should have sought out a female salesperson from the get go.  This experience at Sofa Mart left me feeling like an impala who had been rescued & nursed back to health.

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