Attack of the Furniture Salesmen

There's an insidious, very frightening type of person that's hell-bent on getting in your face and taking away your freedoms! They'll lie, cheat, pester, harangue, and break down your will to get what they want. 

What? No, I'm not taking about politicians for once! Of course I mean furniture salesmen.

These extraordinarily heinous pests make today's politicians seem gallant in comparison (Well, not really, but aren't you guys sick of reading about "politicians?").

A couple of weeks ago, my wife and I set out to get a new love-seat. We have a problem in getting one that will work for both of us as I'm quite a bit taller than she is. But it turned out to be the least of our problems...

First stop was Fat Daddy's Furniture Warehouse! I've always been curious about Fat Daddy's. It's kinda in a seedy part of town and has always looked pretty damn seedy from the outside. Naturally, I wanted to check it out.

When we walked into the place, it was like walking into a freezer, much colder than outside in February! Soon a bundled up woman found us and asked if she could help us.

Well, they didn't have any reclining loveseats, but really I just wanted to get the hell outta there to warm up. On our way out, I said, "It's cold in here!"

The saleswoman said, "It's very cold! I have to sit on top of my space heater!"

In the car, my wife says, "There was no Fat. Nor was there a Daddy. Just a very, very cold lady."

Fat Daddy's proved to be disappointing, but compared to the rest of our encounters, we got off easy with the frozen saleswoman.

Next we stopped at Furniture Madness where Bernie raced up to us and presumptuously said, "What kind of mattress are you looking for?" (I guess I must've looked extremely tired.)

We told Bernie what we needed. Then came the salesmen "jokes." 

"If you sit in it, you've got to buy it. Just kidding!"

"You want it, it's yours. I'll hand deliver it today myself if I have to. Just kidding!"

"You sat in it twice, so that means you have to buy it. Just kidding!"

He kidded us right out of the store.

Next we went to Furniture Barn, a huge place with more salesmen cruising the floors than pieces of furniture. Like sharks, they'd swim toward us, the unwitting chum-like rubes, hoping to take a bite out of our wallets.

And I fell into one of their devious traps. We'd found an electronic reclining loveseat with more bells, whistles, gizmos, and lights on it than a starship enterprise captain's chair. For whatever reason, a series of blue lights ran under the chair and up and down the sides. While my wife was horrified, naturally I had to try it out.

We sat down, worked the controls. Fully reclined, I said, "Hey, this is pretty comfy."

"No," was my wife's response as she swiftly landed her seat and raced off to parts unknown. Leaving me stuck, fully reclined. I couldn't figure out how to set the device back to sitting position, thus making me easy pickings for the hungry salesmen. Even worse, I begrudgingly--and very emasculatingly--had to ask one of the sales guys for assistance. After that, I more or less ran for the doors.

(Note to furniture designers: it's probably not a great idea to have the electronic control buttons surrounding the drink holders. I told my wife, it'd last about one day until I spilled a beer on them.)

As the day progressed, the stores got worse, the salesmen even pushier. Soon the loveseats all started blending together, nothing more memorable than the last. Yet the worst place was one of our last stops.

Zagaraga's claimed to be having a "grand opening" with "everything slashed 80% or more!" or so stated the numerous signs up and down Shawnee Mission Parkway. Sounded too good to be true.

As soon as we stepped inside, a particularly heinous silver fox in a suit jumped on us, "Hello, I'm Art. And you are?" So taken aback by his rude effrontery, neither of us answered right away. So he pushed on even louder. "AND YOU ARE??"

"Annoyed" was the answer I wanted to give, but I didn't and ended up giving him my real name. Then he attacked my wife. (Later, my wife suggested we give fake names. I really, really wanted  a salesman to keep calling me "Hubert," but then worried we may have to come clean later if we bought something).

Art also lied to us. "I'm walking through the store and randomly slashing prices at 80% or more on furniture."

Well, one look at the crossed out prices told the real story. A crappy love seat doesn't cost $60 grand. Anyway, Art wouldn't leave us alone. He hounded us, told us to come with him, showed us crap we didn't want, followed us, bugged us, and kept shouting our names out in the store. Finally, he says, "Well, I'll let you take a look around, then I'll check in on you."

That lasted for all of thirty seconds. He dragged us immediately over to a hideous eyesore of a "loveseat" that wouldn't even fit in our TV room.

Under my breath, I said, "Let's get outta here."

As we made our hasty exit, Art caught us. "Hey, Stuart! Stuart! I didn't make that too painful for you, did I? Nothing I hate more than being jumped on by pushy salesmen."

Clearly, Art suffered from grand delusion.

Anyway, exhausted and sick of doing our due diligence, we circled back to Furniture Barn. Swallowing my pride from having to be rescued in one of their furniture traps, we bought a loveseat. Anything to be finished with the full-on attacks of these guys, even far worse than car salesmen.

Beware the furniture salesmen!

There's a whole lot to beware in my book, Dread and Breakfast. Okay, so none of it's as bad as furniture salesmen, but I'd have to say it's a close second.