“You need better pillows,” my boyfriend announced out of the clear blue last weekend. “Where can we go to get some?” ….
….(read the linked post above for The Full Episode)…
…. off we went, trekking further into the deep dark regions of the second floor of Macy’s, hoping against hope to find A Competent Human Being to aid us in our quest.
And now: The Stunning Conclusion:
Clutching our hard-won pillows in our hands, we set out in search of two things: a blanket and a competent sales associate. Despite our experience at Macy’s so far, we were optimistic and in a good mood: we were together, and we had found The Greatest Pillows Created by the Hand of Man. We had a half-hour to find a blanket, purchase it and said pillows and get across the street to the theater in time to watch American Sniper.
What could possibly go wrong?
The second floor of Macy’s is set up in a sort of round labyrinth of confusion. This is done on purpose so shoppers will get lost and distracted by dazzling displays of things they neither want nor need. I found myself walking much slower as we passed the pretty rainbow of Kitchenaid mixers. There was a mint green one…swoon…
There was only one type of blanket for sale on the entire second floor of that gargantuan Macy’s. One. To Macy’s credit, it was lovely, however, it cost as much as an aspirin in the Emergency Room. No middle class American could afford it unless they took out a second mortgage.
“Well, damn,” my boyfriend said. “At least we found these pillows though.” Holding our foam treasures in their cumbersome and slightly crushed boxes, we hurried on to find a place to check out. Our movie started in T-20 minutes. With a heavy sigh and drooping shoulders, we let go of our dream of a new blanket: we were on a mission, dammit.
“No matter what happens, I simply refuse to lose. To me, it’s really that simple. I approach anything thought to be difficult with an attitude of “I’ll do this or die trying.” -Navy SEAL, The Navy SEAL Training Guide
Inspired by the brave men and women of the United States Navy, and our desire to see the movie in its entirety, we soldiered on. We had walked about a half a mile in search of a register, passing the linens department on purpose (that poor man was still waiting for his return to be completed), when we found ourselves surrounded by shiny cutlery. “Hey, you need some knives, too,” my boyfriend said, as he drooled at the knife blocks filled with sharp dangerous blades. Sweet Lord, I thought, we’re never gonna get out of here.
“I have knives, baby,” I said, attempting to use some logic of my own.
“Oh, please. *I* have knives; what you have are Not Knives.” As he is somewhat of an Expert in This Area, there was no point in arguing, and I knew he was right: my knives suck. Hell, my best one has pears painted all over the blade. Seriously:
“Better to be strong than pretty and useless.” -Lilith Saintcrow
I found myself now wandering through a terrifying assortment of Really Sharp Objects, carrying my Amazing New Pillow. Robert was looking at a super cool clear modern knife block with what can only be described as Complete Infatuation. “Oooh!” I said, as enamored by the cool display as any marketing person would be, “These are awesome!” Closer examination by Robert revealed that the super cool display was filled with Lesser Knives. He moved on: those Weren’t Good Enough.
Then, he saw them. Like a revelation from a benevolent deity, complete with a Light Shining From Above, were the Henckels. My boyfriend stopped, his breathing slowed to a reverent pace, and he ceased blinking so as not to miss a thing. He had found what he was looking for: an Actual Knife.
“These are knives, baby, ” he announced.
I gotta admit, they were beautiful. I could tell they were far more awesome than the crap knives sold in sets that came with a knife block: each one was sold individually, and each one was Completely Out of My Price Range.
“Quality is never an accident. It is always the result of intelligent effort.”
-John Ruskin
“Darlin’, these are way too expensive,” I said.
“We’ll just get you one then.” He chose a blade roughly the size of the Sword of Gondor. After much convincing, we traded that for one more suited to a woman who can still buy some of her clothes in the girls’ section.
“Robert! It’s a quarter-til. We gotta go!”
Time had been moving right along without our knowledge or consent, and since theater schedules wait for no man, we high-tailed it to the nearest register. It was right next to those beautiful mixers, and a couple of well-informed consumers were discussing the merits of a waffle iron when we arrived. We picked up the conversation somewhere at this point: “Well, can you go check in the back and see if you have any more of these?” Judging from the blank look on the sales associate’s face, it seemed doubtful she knew where “the back” was, much less what she should do once she got there. We watched her walk off like she was on a Sunday stroll. The couple in front of us looked at us apologetically. They communicated to us without speech: there is no telling how long this is gonna take; get out now while you still can.
Panicking now, we hoofed it to the next available register: it was in the fine china department, which seemed as far away as actual China. Three ladies with Macy’s name tags on hovered around a darling child, oohing and ahhing over her beautiful curls. One noticed us immediately, smiled, and said, “Hello! How are y’all? Are you ready to check out?”
We nearly cried.
She took our items and asked if we had found everything okay. We nearly cried again. Robert gave her the abridged version of our Tale of Woe and the mess that was The Linens Department as she ran her little laser gun over our things. She listened, apologetic and understanding, and then she pulled out the current sales ad to scan us a coupon rate for an additional percentage off the pillows, but she stopped suddenly and said, “Hang on, Sugar. These pillows are ringing up different prices, and neither of them are ringing up on sale. Are you sure you got the right ones?”
Sure enough, one of the pillows we had been hauling all over Macy’s was ringing up for the original price: roughly a gazillion dollars, even though it was in a box identical to the ones on sale and occupied the same real estate as the others piled haphazardly beneath the On-Sale sign. Since the display had only been partially destroyed in the Annual White Sale mayhem; we thought we’d grabbed two of the same pillows.
Robert once again applied logic: “We got both of these from the display of the pillows that are on sale,” he said as we compared the labels with the sales ad.”Can you hold our stuff while we go get the right one?”
“Sure.” We ran, breathless, back to Pillow Hell to replace the wrong pillow and confirm that the ones we were holding were on sale. My smart boyfriend took a picture of the sale price sign and the pillows we had chosen (thank you, iPhone 6+) and we raced back to the register. The sales lady compared both pillows, his picture, and the sales ad and confirmed that we now had two of the right ones. Then she said, “Okay, it looks like somebody messed up over there. I’m just gonna walk over there and make sure y’all got the correct pillows.”
Wait…wha..??
It was ten minutes until American Sniper. I felt like Rainman without his Cheese Balls and apple juice. I was losing my Zen. Robert’s Jewish: his Zen was long gone. He was about to go off on her when we both caught the look in her eye, and All Became Clear: she knew we were right, she just had to prove it to the Macy’s gods behind the curtain in order to give us the correct price.
“We’ll come with you,” Robert said.
We walked and talked with this charming lady, who was both intelligent and humorous. We talked about the movie we were headed to see, about finding love again and new relationships, and about quality service. She genuinely apologized for the service we had received, and the wretched condition of the linens department. She confirmed (clearly and loudly for any and all watching her on video) that the sign was correct and the pillows we had chosen were ringing up wrong, and we all hoofed it back to the register. The sales lady checked us out quickly, packed up our items so they’d be easy to carry, and thanked us for our patronage.
Robert was nearly overcome with emotion. “What is your name?” he asked. “I am going to write this store a letter about you. You’ve given us wonderful service, and I want your superiors to know that.”
She was moved by the question, as was I. She smiled at my boyfriend.
“Ikea,” she said.
“Seriously?” my boyfriend smiled.
“Yes. Just like the store.”
“Thank you, Ikea.”
“You’re very welcome.”
My thoughtful Man on a Mission had succeeded not only in accomplishing his mission, but in making Ikea’s day. I now have further proof that I have found a rarity among men: my boyfriend is A Gentleman.
And, we made the movie on time, because of Ikea. It was great. The knife and the pillows are pretty great too.
“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.” -Robert Heinlein