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If You Buy a Futon, You Are Part of the Problem

I just escaped from being held hostage in by excessively aggressive futon salespeople desperate to survive furniture trends they know are going the way of tanning salons. A sad salesman asked what I was looking for (a firm pillow one might prop behind her back) and when they didn't have that, his boss sorta forced him to force me into a corner to "Look at fabric swatches." The salesman promised the store could make the pillow of my dreams and I nodded politely. I pretended I needed some time alone with the fabric, but when nobody was looking, managed to get away from the corner. I could feel the breeze on my cheek when the manager cut me off and trapped me near the door. The manager made me look at an inelegant futon chair the size of a redwood stump and when I said I thought it was a bit large for what I had in mind, she forced the sad salesman (who probably has a Master's degree in physics) to come and show me how to open and close the futon and push in the racks. The manager ran through every fucking possible combination of stubby fat oak arms (or arms-free) and every fucking possible stained oak color in the stained oak rainbow and forced me to sit in the fucking chair again as she had her stooge demonstrate every uncomfortable position and then she forced me to learn how to adjust the positions through all sorts of contortionist maneuvers. I finally realized I had to just walk away without trying to be polite about saying goodbye. If you buy a futon, know that you are part of the problem.
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