My lovely wife and I have been looking for some prime comfort seating for our new digs. A LazyBoy, a chase, a crouton--something to sit on. I don't like firm seating. I like the kind that make me ache when I get up--that's a good recliner. Just want to get that out of the way. It's a tough request at most places because they pride themselves on seating that's good for your back...you know, support. But back support really means uncomfortable piece of crap that you don't want to sit in. Leave the back support for the chiropractor's office. When I'm at home, I want to slouch and hurt in the morning from doing it.
Okay, so we're at the furniture store. I won't name the actual store, but it rhymes with "Rob Stills." I walk in looking like I got mauled by a grizzly bear and my lovely wife, well, she was lovely. I get the half-smile treatment from a few people like, "That cat's got no money, but just look interested." I mean, if you want to get absolutely no attention at a car lot, on the showroom floor or in a bar, dress like a bum and they'll leave you alone. Trust me. It's worked for me my whole life. Just couldn't keep the ladies away, for some reason. Oh yeah, it's because I'm a complete and total hottie.
Go ahead, admit it.
A fairly jittery and nervous fella walks up and begins walking us around the recliners. Now, I'm not saying that selling recliners ain't easy, but it's not necessarily rocket science either. He's trying to explain how they work and I'm thinking, "Yeah, sit down and lean back like Fat Joe." Not too tough, but he insists on going into how to actually work them like I've been sitting on a rock for the last 3o years. Needless to say, this cat's kinda getting on my nerves. It was kinda funny because I ended up actually asking questions like I didn't know just to see what stupid questions he would actually answer. Questions like, "So, does this one rock?" "Does the back come off for transport?" "Does it lock in the reclined position?"
He keeps saying every time I sit down in one, "Yeah, you sit down, grab the lever to activate the recline and then it's all a matter of weight distribution from there." Dude, did you just call me fat?
Anyhow, we take his business card which really means, "Just so we know who to avoid next time we're in." We then head to a much larger furniture retailer. I won't give the name, but it rhymes with "Crashley." The automated doors swing wide and my lovely wife and I walk in. Not that they'd need to swing wide for both of us to fit through, but they swing wide anyway. Americans need a lot of room to get all the crap they spend their hard-earned and honest money on out of the door. A lady bee-lines to us despite my motley looks. She points us to the recliners and tells us, "Everything we sell needs to be ordered so it'll take 10 days." She then hovers off to somewhere else. Thank God, I wanted her to leave me alone with a quickness.
I sit in a lot of chairs in this place and, guess what, I found me a chair. I was absolutely in love. I sat in it, sank, felt my spine pop in about twenty different places, sighed and said, "See if we can find it in brown." Of course, since I had run off all of the salespeople, the second we got a question about a chair nearing the purchase, we can't track an employee down. My lovely wife walks over to the counter and enquires about a lighter hue and a man starts walking over to see me almost in a sleeping state.
All of the sudden, this lady briskly rushes up to the man approaching with my lovely wife and says, "I was already started with them. I'll be right back to answer their question." The man, like he had just been backhanded by Zsa Zsa, stops in his tracks, lowers his head and kinda mumbles for a few seconds. I was thinking, "When did that woman help us? We've just been walking around sitting on furniture all by ourselves for about twenty minutes." Then it dawned on me that this woman was the salesperson who almost knocked me over when I walked in the door, pointed to the back of the store and then told us how inconvenient their shipping was and then darted off. She was "helping us" apparently. I sat there pretty pissed off as I watch her wander off with a family as they shop the rest of the floor. I'm thinking, "Why am I waiting for that lady to help me? More importantly, why would I give that lady a cent of my cash as commission?"
I tell my wife that I'm not waiting for her and contemplate just going back and asking the fella who had come over to help me, but then decided I'd just leave instead. It was enough to really complete my retail experience for the day. I know that woman's gotta eat, but chick was just down for self. Had she been a team player, she would've let Bobby help her out. I imagine she was probably helping about fifty people at that moment because she would just hang out inside the door and, when they would open, she would bark out: "Let me know if I can help you. All product takes ten days to come in once it's ordered." Apparently, that meant she was helping us.
What a helpful world we live in.
Starving from chair shopping, I dared out and suggested my wife and I go to a local pizza buffet. Now, when you make this decision to walk in and actually pay for their service, you know you're in a deeply delusional state. This is never ever a good idea. It is a cafeteria for sad, the forgotten, the uneducated, the overweight, the grime from the very bottom of society's class structure. It's like where people have eaten themselves into complete confusion. They sit there with a plate of about ten to fifteen slices of pieces stacked all the way up to their chin and they just start chewing until their forehead's on the table. We walk in.
"Welcome to GiGi's!" (due to legal reasons, we had to change the name of the establishment)
The manager walks over to a girl putting some trays away and says, "Bridget, I didn't hear you."
"Didn't hear me what?"
"I didn't hear you say, 'Welcome to GiGi's.'"
I started thinking, "What a horribly sad place to work." We approach the counter where some bubbly sixteen year-old takes our order noticing that she had asked us, "Have you been to GiGi's before" two times. My lovely wife said she was going to say "no" and act like she didn't know how a buffet works. I would've paid for the family behind me to see that.
I get a mound of their "pizza" and begin chowing just focusing my eyes on my lovely wife to avoid looking anywhere else in the restaurant. If you make eye contact with the patrons, you'll become one of them. Like the overweight woman in the corner who apparently hurt herself somewhere on the property--my lovely wife was doing the investigative work. Apparently she slipped somewhere near the birthday and now was working a really nice pimp limp around the restaurant. She was lighting up the manager about the incident and he seemed rather "corporate" about it. Probably filling out an incident report, acting like he cares, asking if she needs an ambulance. I think she just wanted some free coupons for more buffet visits, but I'm not sure. Funniest part came when she was looking for her husband for some help and where was he? Playing games in the arcade.
Now that's some serious love there.
Stay away from these pizza buffet places, though. Seriously. It's to humans like the those little roach traps are to cockroaches. I'm almost ashamed that I went back in there knowing this going into the experience. It's like Too $hort, I can't stay away. I tried, but audibly said, "Let's go to GiGi's." Don't make that mistake. Not only is it bad for your physical well-being, but it's horribly detrimental on an emotional level as well. Recognize.
And wash your hands when you're done.