Location: The Mattress King
Participants: My wife, my three-year old, oily Mattress King salesman.
Overview: It was time to plunk down many dollars on a new mattress.
My son and wife bravely ventured to The Mattress King, where used car salesmen
and high-risk mortgage lenders go to die.
The floor room looked like a a package of peppermint Chiclets had exploded.
Gleaming white rectangles everywhere.
Truly the home of The Mattress King.
A benevolent sire who only wanted a good night's sleep for his bleary-eyed subjects.
Of course, every court is ruled by slithering sycophants who only look out for their own
personal interests and this hall was no exception.
The Mattress King salesman slid over to my wife and child and proceeded to point out
the pros and more pros of the Temperpedic sleep system.
According to him, you can no longer buy a mattress, you must buy a "sleep system."
Subtle cajoling, tender manipulation, the man was a master of the dark art of persuasion.
My son, off-handedly mentioned he needed to go the bathroom.
But the web had been cast and the salesman would let no subjects escape.
A few more minutes of back and forth passed, then my wife looked around
and found my son no longer at her side.
He had marched right out of the Mattress King and was staring back through the large plate glass showroom window. He waved, then pulled down his pants and proceeded to urinate all over the window.
Take that Mattress King.
Uhm, and we'll be taking your finest mattress pad too.