I purchased my current mattress after the break up of my marriage. It was not supposed to be my forever mattress, only my transition mattress. After eight years and even more lumpy spots, it had to go!
After weeks of procrastination, I went shopping. The first few stores were not doing it for me. In each, I was met by a sales associate who appeared in front of me as if dropped by a pneumatic tube associate dispensing system activated by opening the door of the store. With each salesperson came a big toothy grin and a clipboard with sale flyers, credit applications and, no doubt, a list of everything the manager wanted the staff to sell. The associates in each store stayed in close formation, chatting me up, looking for personal details to bond with me so I would make a purchase, preferably on my new store credit card. The only thing they needed to know was that I was shopping for a mattress, I was there to flop, lay still and sort through the selection on my back.
The last store was different. I slipped into the vast showroom unnoticed by the staff. Perhaps their pneumatic associate delivery tube system was down. The last time I was here, the mattresses were way in the back of the building, so that is where I headed, weaving through the confusing galleries of bedrooms, dining rooms, leather recliners, and couches. When I finally arrived in the back, I was dismayed to find the former mattress gallery full of beach house offerings. “Wicker (shuddering), so much wicker!”
I plotted my escape from the store. Did they stop selling mattresses? To find that answer I would need to talk to an associate. No, it was better to locate a way out as stealthily as possible.
As I weaved my way out it happened, a desk caught my eye. I wanted a new writing table. It had to be hardwood, at least 60 inches wide, and a close match for the furniture in my bedroom. As I was examining it, a strange feeling came over me, perhaps a feeling a wildebeest experiences when they sense a lion, with a clipboard, sizing them up. I moved away, picking my route through the maze of galleries, increasing my pace as I went. I was using my peripheral vision to track the predator associate as I moved ever closer to the front door.
I moved left and stumbled on the entrance to the mattress gallery. I darted around a half wall and there, in front of me, a sea of mattresses. I flopped on the first one. Wow, not too firm, not too soft. The lioness approached, but the half wall obstructed its view. She moved off slowly. There were more wildebeest to be had.
I checked out the selection and returned to the first mattress I had tried during my escape. We have a winner! Now I need to find an associate. They are never around when you need them!
This is a blog post written for a class, Blog Writing I, I am taking with Gotham Writers Workshop.