So, since we’ve moved into this house, the only real complaint I’ve had is that there’s nowhere for me to just sit and read, unless I want to sit in the living room – where sooner or later someone else turns on the TV, ’cause they’ve never heard of sitting quietly and just READING – or on the bed. No chairs set off where I could just sit quietly and read, and snuggle with the cats. For the last few months, I’ve been saving up money, and finally I had enough to drag Fred and the spud out shopping for a chair to put in the corner of the bedroom, where I can sit and read to my heart’s content.
Saturday, we left the house around 10:30, vowing (or perhaps that was just me) not to come home until a chair was found and purchased. Our first stop was the antiquey-basement-smelling Rhodes Furniture, where we found exactly one chair we liked, but it was more than I wanted to spend. We walked next door to the La-z-boy Gallery, and walked in the door to find, smiling up at us, three "Factory Special" chairs, all of which were well within the price range, and – according to the tags – could be covered with the fabric of your choice. So we sat and waited for a salesperson to happen by, or to see us and come over.
And waited and waited and waited.
After close to 10 minutes, Fred suggested we leave and go to the store where we bought the couch and loveseat and see if we could find anything there. We found one chair, and again we sat to wait for a salesperson. And there were salespeople aplenty, wandering by and ignoring us, standing around and chatting and ignoring us, and glancing at and ignoring us.
Fred suggested that we looked like we didn’t have any money. I agreed that it probably did look like we didn’t have any money, since the spud – did I mention that she was with us? – had taken it upon herself to wear shorts and a t-shirt for the rather cool day, and obviously we couldn’t afford to dress our child in warm clothes, so could also not afford the fine furnishings, and why should they waste their time?
Back to the La-z-boy Gallery we went, where we again sat down, waiting in vain as the salespeople clustered about the register, chatting and ignoring us. Finally, Fred went up and stood there, arms crossed, until one of them said "Can I help you, sir?" Fred smiled his asshole smile and said "I’d like to buy a chair if it’s not too much trouble."
I couldn’t see him from where I was, but he said they all froze as one, like deer caught in headlights. Finally, one woman came forward, all apologetic and ready to help. She came over and got the numbers off the tag and went back to check the price, and Fred asked various and sundry questions, and then we went back to look at fabric swatches and decide on the one we liked.
There was only one we liked, and the saleslady came back and said "Okay, let me check my chart and see if that affects the price."
Fred smiled his asshole smile and said "I bet it goes up."
Sure enough, it would have been an extra $110 to get the fabric we liked. Shocking, no?
"I can live with what it’s covered in if you can," I said to Fred. He stood and mentally weighed the satisfaction of storming out of there against having to listen to me whine about wanting a chair for the next several days, and decided on the lesser of two evils.
"We’ll take it," he said.
"Let me go see if we have any ready in the warehouse," said the saleslady.
Fred smiled his asshole smile and said "I bet they don’t."
The saleslady came back. "It seems that there are none in the warehouse, but you can take the one off the floor." Discussions ensued about how there had been strange asses sitting on that chair, and Fred wasn’t certain he wanted a chair strangers had been farting in in his house, and perhaps we should get a price break.
She didn’t go for that.
We decided – because of the evil cats and their propensity for barfing on the least desirable surfaces – that the chair needed to be Scotchguarded.
Fred smiled his asshole smile. "I bet you charge for shipping."
"Oh yes – that’s a $30 delivery charge," said the saleslady, who no doubt was growing tired of Fred’s asshole smile. "But you could fit it into the back of an SUV easily," she hastened to add, and also said that it could be picked up Sunday.
"I think I’ll pick it up Monday," Fred replied. "Between 3:30 and 4," so he could leave work and pick it up, and then come home.
So we left.
Oh! I forgot – when the lady was getting our information – name, address, all that – she asked for the phone number, and Fred gave her his work number, and then she politely said "May I have your home number?", and he said
with an asshole smile
"I’m sorry, you may not."
She handled it well, only pausing for a moment and jotting something down on her form – probably customer is asshole – and going on to fill out the rest of the form.
So Fred got in to work this morning to find a snotty, bitchy message from her, wondering if we still WANTED the chair, since we hadn’t BOTHERED to come pick it up yesterday. When he called back to give her hell, she claimed she’d been on pain medication due to some sort of surgery, and had been confused.
Likely story.
Anyway, long story short (too late!), Fred picked up the chair and brought it home with him this afternoon. We put it in a corner of the bedroom, and the cats are freaking out.
I can’t wait to snuggle up on that chair under a quilt with a good book and a bad kitty tonight! (By the way, the chair’s not nearly as close to the bed as it looks in that picture).
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