The Shadowy World of Futons, a Parable

I found it. . . . Finally.

The guy on the phone sounded sort of normal, rational, not uninformed or dazed, not resentful or bored, not fatuous or high pressured. And he had the exact futon mattress I sought. An actual store with a live human and samples. Almost too good to be true.

I quickly dressed and jumped in the car (how come you always jump in a car but into a shower??), then headed to the west side. Miraculously I found a parking spot albeit on a speeding avenue, with a perilous-to-pedestrian bike lane that seemed to welcome motorized two wheelers zooming straight at you; gingerly I made my way to the curb.

The company name was all over the web, but the store was so small that at first I did not believe it existed. When the sign came into view, immediately I tried to quell my disappointment. Once inside, the narrow, dreary, dim cave-like atmosphere matched the ramshackle, faded and chipped paint of the outside. You know the kind of situation- it blares MISTAKE, but inexplicably draws you in further if only to delay the small agony of defeat.

This was not at all like the cheery, suburban, well organized futon place with the knowledgeable, clean cut futon guy from whom I bought a futon mattress two decades earlier. All that was gone- gone-gone; online sellers had taken over; what’s more, after voluminous online research on how to replace this simple item without receiving a returned, bed bug ridden, sagging bundle of rags, it appeared choices were scarce; cyberspace held just a few dealers, most of whom did not have actual stores like this one, hence my initial, doomed elation. I had found a couple of wildly overpriced organic, west coast sellers who claimed futon spiritual purity, the other online retailers seemed spurious. 

The futon mattress on the floor of this “brick and mortar” venue of course was horrible, much like the store itself; it seemed comprised of bricks by its weight and bulk, and was truly frightening. If it fell on you, you’d be instantly smothered. In addition, it was dirty, really dirty. Two customers walked in as I stared in disbelief at this almost alive thing; the lone sales person totally ignored them and after a couple of minutes they left; I soon followed.

At that point I started flirting with the idea of “mattress toppers,” knowing deep down it would not end well. After all, a futon in itself is a kind of hefty mattress pad. In addition, finding one  to my liking in the shadowy world of pixels would entail the same frustrating process as before.

In the end I went with LL Bean, which offers only one simple futon mattress, not dozens. Their George Washington Apple Tree image of Total Honesty notwithstanding, I suffer from online shopping PTSD and still must endure the inevitable qualms and misgivings as I await delivery. Hopefully all those fears will become a dim memory and I will never have to stay awake at night thinking about how to repackage and mail back a fifty five pound mattress.

But why, oh why, must something like buying a damned futon mattress (or anything else you may need) be so daunting?? Oh yes, I forgot. Online product acquisition! The wild west, the unregulated “air b & b” of commerce- yes, it’s true, you can find a cozy sweater in your correct size and color in cyberspace, and at a great price (though chances are it may already have been washed by a previous owner, perhaps more than once); conversely you also can fall victim to a creepy, invisible, retail sociopath from some shady, online outfit that makes you curse and kick yourself for foolishly shopping online, again.

As if you had a choice these days . . . .

The naysayers of anything pre internet scoff at those of us who pine for the old days,  refuting complaints about online shopping as reactionary, unliberated, not in step with the times; they reduce our intense and well founded angst to a mere retro, nostalgic and unrealistic view of the world pre-online; they are not beneath dredging up arguments like lack of penicillin back then too! to prove what an old fashioned idiot you are.

And naturally they have a point. Now I actually can figure out how to treat toenail fungus or sore throat or even a bad back or the plague simply by clicking a button. I even can take my life in my hands and order medication without a prescription from unknown, online sources! But consumers also can be major-ly and egregiously scammed in a variety of ways, over and over and over again ad nauseam in this quintessential bait and switch universe, and  wind up throwing stuff away rather than repackage or fight with faceless customer reps.

In truth, I also miss all that human to human contact, the touching of the fabric, the pinching of cushions, the smelling of rugs, the peek at that pristine, first page of a novel in the book store so that you don’t defile or mess up the volume’s crisp, newness even as you feel the shopkeeper’s vigilant eyes boring into you; the kindly doctor you love, or obnoxiously taciturn, arrogant ass of a practitioner whom later you can diss but who still talks to you, discusses your case face to face, personally as it were. Even healthcare is getting the screen treatment! How do you explain your intensely mysterious, no doubt significant symptoms to the image of a face attired in the image of a white coat?

Oy. You think this is bad? Just wait until “AI” takes over. . . .