The Day We Bought a Refrigerator

(Post by Tracy)

We all made it safely to California, and on Monday, Tom and I set out with our gang to find a refrigerator.

Back when we came to California to find apartments in June, we almost skipped visiting a few because the listings said, “Need to supply your own refrigerator.” People around here might be used to that, but it seemed strange to us Milwaukeeans that an apartment would come sans fridge. We’ve asked a few people why it is that California (or at least Los Angeles) seems to do that, and no one has a real answer. Perhaps it’s a weird question to them. I wouldn’t have an answer if someone asked me, “Why is it that in Milwaukee all the apartments are already equipped with a fridge?” So anyway, we needed to get a fridge.

Although less essential, we also decided to buy some sort of bed for our second bedroom. So on Monday, we started out on a refrigerator and bed hunt.

We decided the best option would be a day bed with a trundle bed hidden underneath. After doing our online research, we had a list of stores to check out for this and a fridge.

We found the ideal bed frame at one mattress store, but we decided to shop around a little more for the actual mattresses, plus we still needed to find that refrigerator.

We spent the afternoon flipping back and forth from fridge to mattress mode, visiting half a dozen stores in total. While we had found the bed frame, we weren't having such luck with the refrigerator. Finally, while in refrigerator mode at one store, we got a tip on a cheaper place to shop by eavesdropping on the conversation between a salesperson and an upset customer.

Back in bed mode, we eventually found ourselves at another mattress store. Somewhat exhausted already, even though it was only around 5pm, Dad and Michelle decided to wait in the car while Tom, Mom and I went in to check it out. Tom left them the keys so they wouldn’t overheat in the afternoon sun, and we went in.

The store was surprisingly big inside, and it looked even bigger than it was due to the head to floor mirrors placed randomly throughout the showroom. After being inside this mattress house of illusions for about 10 minutes, we were eventually approached by a young salesman. We told him we were looking for mattresses to fit a trundle and day bed, and he pointed us towards some cheap mattresses.

It seemed like we might find what we were looking for, so I took a second to send Dad a text message. He and Michelle joined us inside.

The salesman seemed friendly enough and was willing to help us look. Then when I asked about the return policy, he barked out, “None.”
Confused, I asked, “You don’t have a return policy?”
“No. No stores ever have take a return on a mattress.”
I informed him that this was not true. “I bought a mattress last year that had a 30-day return policy.”
“Did you return it?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“See? They wouldn’t take it if you had tried. No store ever would. If they do, that means they’re either selling used mattresses or they’re going to put themselves out of business.”
“I have a new mattress at home that has a 3-month return policy,” Michelle piped up from a Temperpedic mattress on the other side of the showroom.
“Have you returned it?” he demanded.
“No,” she said.
“See? They wouldn’t take it.”
“So, are you telling me that they are lying then?” I asked him, starting to get irritated.
He shrugged. “I’ve been in this business for ten years, and I’m telling you, no store would ever take back a mattress.”
Luckily, before this elevated to a full-on argument, my dad cut in and said, “Well this isn’t going anywhere, so let’s decide on a mattress.” I put my sunglasses back on (my adult way of pouting) and kept looking at the mattresses.

We decided on two, bought them, and arranged to pick them up at the warehouse. He flipped back and forth between telling us that he thought the warehouse closed at 8... or 9... or 8... or 9... After handing us the receipt (with a handwritten and underlined “All sales are final” note), we left.

In the parking lot, we waited for Tom to unlock the car door. Then I noticed that Tom was pointing into the car. I followed where his finger was pointing and saw the car key sitting on the driver’s seat inside the locked car.
We all stood there a little stunned, not really knowing what to do, for a couple of minutes. Then we all started our own plans of action.

I realized I had a spare key in the new apartment, which wasn’t very far away, so I called 411 to get the number of a cab company. I used the number, called for a cab, and was told that they only serviced Orange County. I asked that cab company for a number to use in L.A. County and tried again. That worked out, and a cab was on its way.

Meanwhile, Mom was on the phone calling AAA. She was told that someone would be out to unlock the door for us within the next 30 minutes. They were on their way.

Also meanwhile, Dad had gone back into the mattress store. He and the salesman came back out, and the salesman started looking through his own trunk, apparently for a coat hanger or similar device. Not finding anything that would work, the salesman walked swiftly towards the dumpster in the parking lot, surprising Michelle and myself with his newfound urgency to help us. Again finding nothing, he came back to our car with his hand outstretched, holding out his own car key. “Take my car,” he said.

I didn’t quite understand what he was offering. Take his car in place of mine? My mom said, “He’s offering to let us take his car to the apartment to get the extra key.”

“Really, take it, please,” he insisted. I politely refused, bewildered by the offer. “Then at least wait inside in the air conditioning. What better place to be laid up than in a mattress store?” Who was this guy?

We followed him back inside, and as Tom started filling cups of water for everyone from the water cooler, the salesman left the store again. He said something to Dad and then walked off down the street. Dad informed us that "the Chinese food store down the block apparently owes him a favor, so he went there to get a coat hanger."

We couldn't believe that he left us alone in his wide open mattress maze, and when we saw a lady pull into the parking lot and park her car, Mom jumped up for the chance to play Mattress Saleswoman. Before she had to play the role, our salesman reappeared, sure enough, with a hanger in tow. He and Dad went to work unmangling the hanger to use as a tool.

Luckily we only had to wait about another minute before the locksmith arrived, beating the taxi. I called and canceled the cab. The salesman retreated back into the store. We went out to watch as the locksmith opened the car door, and we were ready to go.

I went back inside to thank the salesman for his efforts, and told him, “Thanks very much. We really appreciate all your help.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said, without looking up from his computer.

Getting over the whole weird situation, we finished our afternoon of shopping, found a decent refrigerator at Lowe’s that will be delivered tomorrow, and then sent Tom and Dad to the warehouse to pick up the mattresses.

Waiting at the apartment with Michelle and Mom, my phone rang at 8:05. It was Tom, calling to tell us that the warehouse was closed. Tom said that he had called the warehouse to make sure that they were there. He got the answering machine, so he called our mattress salesman to inquire. “Oh, no, they definitely close at 8:00,” he told Tom.

Oh, the refrigerator is nice, by the way. It’s white, 18.2 cubic feet. The first major appliance that Tom and I have bought together. Plus it comes with a built-in warranty, 365 days long.