The Armoire Story

On the day in which I was Carded! To Buy! A Video Game!, there was also an armoire. I call it "an armoire" and not "my armoire", because at that point, it was just an armoire like any other, and not one I held any sort of ownership over. Of course, things change.

We left Best Buy, me swollen with a smug pride at my very evident Youngness, and happened upon a store proclaiming: FURNITURE CLOSEOUT SALE!. What is one to do when faced with such a proclaimation? One really has only one choice: Walk Into the Store Immediately.

It just so happens that Sean and I have been loosely in the market for some sort of clothing-holding-furniture for some time now. And recently, I have been tightening that loose-marketed-ness up into more of a state of we really need to buy a dresser or a chest or a freaking armoire soon-itude. The digging through piles of clothing folded and placed on the foot of the bed because there is NOWHERE else to put them has grown rather old, really.

So, we walked into the store and began perusing dressers, chests, and freaking armoires. They tended to fall into the following categories:

1. Totally Fucked Up and Nearly Useless
2. A Wee Bit Fucked Up and Fixable
3. Only Slightly Fucked Up
4. So Incredibly Fucking Ugly That the State of Fucked Uppedness is Effectively Rendered Moot

There was an armoire that I was partial to, and it pretty well fell squarely between categories 2 and 3. That is to say, one door was not actually attached to the armoire, but was instead leaning neatly against it. Other than that, it seemed fairly pristine.

We fiddled with the armoire a bit, finally asking the Slimy Salesguy attendant upon said armoire what the deal was with it. He reported that it was solid oak (which, from what I could see, seemed accurate), that it retailed for $1300, and that he could let it go to us for $399.

We hemmed and hawed a bit, and finally left to "think about it" and "maybe come back".

Hours and hours later, we remembered that, in the midst of our holiday shopping, there had been an armoire. But we were far too tired to go back and retrieve it.

Cut to the next day. After some researching and thought, I decided that I could not, in fact, live without the armoire. Or at least that I really really liked it and thought we should go get it. Sean agreed emphatically, and we headed out to buy the (solid oak!) armoire for $399, all the while discussing where we would rent a Uhaul to go get it, and who might be able to help move it up to our third floor apartment. And do you think that he will take $350 for it? Because that would be, like, SO cool!

We slipped almost unnoticed into the store an hour before closing. "Hey!" Sean hissed in my ear, "It's a different guy! Walk around for awhile!"

Sean is just all smooth like that. All hissing in my ear and shit.

So, after a few requisite circles around the stores' periphery, feigning interest in furniture that fell into categories 1 through 4, we came back to the armoire. "Gee, the door isn't on it!" Sean exclaimed in mock horror.

"Golly, you are correct!" I agreed. "The door certainly is not attached to this armoire in any way, shape, or form."

"We would have to expend a degree of effort to right the wrongs done to this armoire!"

"I agree. Far too much effort would be expended!"

"The screw-holes could potentially even be stripped, rendering any effort expended to reattach said door practically moot."

"I concur. This is an armoire of the poorest quality."

Tiring of hearing us shovel armloads of crap at him through each other, the salesguy finally piped up: "I'll let you have that armoire for $199."

$199? As in, a hundred dollars? And then, another 99? Like, half what we came here to pay?

"And you can have it delivered for another $50."

Sold!

So, we will be expectantly waiting for our armoire on Saturday. We just have to, you know, expend some effort to move the furniture already in the bedroom. And then put the door back on.

The moral of the story? Salesmen are always full of crap when they say a price is their "best" one. But then, you already knew that, didn't you?