Misadventures in Furnitureland
by Jay Dubya 
Every morning weather permitting I walk the asphalt roads in the
Oak Grove Cemetery. The distance is a little more than a mile if
the trekker traverses the entire blacktop surface. The daily
ritual is good therapy for both body and spirit. My physical form
experiences much needed exercise, and the activity energizes my
brain cells. A stroll a day keeps the psychiatrist away.
After my morning hike, I habitually visit my mother for a cup of
coffee and usually my favorite treat, Tastykake Butterscotch
Krimpets. Naturally, my reasoning is that I must quickly replace
those vital calories I had just burned off power walking around
the cemetery. One such visitation to Mom's happened last May.
"Hi Mom," I greeted after I knocked on and opened the back
kitchen door. "How's that new chair that was delivered yesterday
afternoon."
"I'm very unhappy with it," she answered, "because I had ordered
a recliner and the company sent me a recliner/rocker."
I stepped into the den and observed the object of discussion.
"But Mom, the leather and color are identical to that which you
had selected in the showroom. I was there, and I remember."
"Yes, but they switched chairs on me, and I don't want a rocker.
I just want a recliner."
"You should have bought it From Mazza's Bassett Furniture Direct
on the Black Horse Pike," I suggested. "They wouldn't have pulled
the old switcheroo on you."
"Do you want your krimpets and coffee or not!" she threatened.
"Okay, I'm sorry," I apologized, for I did not desire to forfeit
my favorite morning snack over something as silly as an argument
over a stupid recliner that rocks.
Mom had purchased the chair on her VisaCard, and with the help of
Visa, was able to get her money back without too much hassle. Who
says that credit cards are bad to have?
In July my wife and I were shopping around for a hideaway bed for
my computer room, which used to be my oldest son Joe's bedroom.
We thought we had gotten a pretty good deal on a factory close
out, which included a queen-size sofa bed, a matching love seat,
three tables and a rug. It all looked too good to be true.
"Wow!" I told Joanne, "we really got a great deal. We only wanted
a sofa bed and we have the whole room decorated for a few hundred
dollars more."
"Make sure all your horses are in the corral before you close the
gate," she replied in her typical guarded tone. Sometimes
cynicism is more intelligent than enthusiasm.
Five weeks later the furniture delivery truck rumbled into my
driveway. Two husky fellows appeared at my front door. I invited
them inside, escorted them upstairs, sauntered down the hall and
showed them the large former bedroom that had been converted into
my writing quarters. "In here!" I proudly proclaimed.
"Sir," on of the men said after clearing his throat, "the big
queen-size sofa bed will not fit into this room. It is too long
and it can only go through the doorway vertically."
"Can't we take the door off?" I asked, diplomatically trying to
be constructive.
"No Sir, that won't make any difference," the second man
interrupted. "The sofa is ninety-two inches long and your doorway
is only…..only seventy-eight inches high," he informed as he
measured it with his tape.
I was suddenly deeply depressed. "Is there any solution to this
problem?" I asked.
"Well," the first delivery person responded, "the company has a
technician that will come out and disassemble the sofa bed, take
the parts upstairs, and put it all back together for you."
I became a little perturbed to add to my frustration and
disappointment. "Look at this bill," I insisted. "The salesman's
writing of ninety-two inches looks like seventy-two inches!" I
argued. "How much will it cost to have a technician come out to
my house."
"Around two hundred dollars," the second man said rather
authoritatively. "He'll come out in a week. You can keep the
bigger sofa bed in your garage."
I felt stupid having made such an error in reading the salesman's
handwriting, so I assented. "Okay, first carry the love seat
upstairs. I'll call the store and arrange to have a technician
come out."
My wife contacted the furniture store and was given the phone
number of the company's regional office. A voice at the other end
told Joanne that our home was outside the technician's service
radius.
I frantically dashed up the steps and addressed the delivery'
men, who had just deposited the love seat in the computer room.
"Stop!" I hollered. "We can't accept the furniture because no
technician is going to come out here."
"Well, you gotta' pay for the furniture!" the second fellow
demanded.
"That's what you think!" I shouted back. "You two guys will have
to come and sit on my queen-size sofa bed in the garage every day
in January and see how you'd like it!"
To make a long story short, the furniture was returned to the
warehouse, and I had to suffer a hundred seventy five dollar'
penalty for refusing delivery. The next morning I visited my
mother's place for coffee and butterscotch krimpets. "How do you
like your new furniture?" she inquired. 'Quit busting on me!' I
thought.
"I related the nightmare misadventure in furnitureland that I had
recently endured. "You should have bought it at Mazza's Bassett
Furniture on the Black Horse Pike," my mother suggested. "At
least they would know whether or not the sofa bed could fit in an
upstairs' bedroom."
I honored my mother's suggestion without too much accompanying
embarrassment or loss of pride. And I must say that Joanne and I
are completely satisfied with the new improved appearance of the
computer room. Thank you Frank and Gary Mazza. You can come over
to my place any time for tea and krimpets. I am also happy to
report that no guests will have to sleep in my garage.
, (Jay Dubya)
Copyright-The Hammonton (New Jersey)Gazette
September 4, 2001 edition
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