We were out the other day, looking for new furniture. We stopped at a nation-wide chain to look at a suite that I found on their website.
“I would like to see the entire set.” I mentioned the name of the suite to the salesman.
“Follow me,” replied Alex the Salesman.
After looking, sitting on the couch, and admiring the lamps, we said would take certain pieces at the sale price.
“Where is this made?” asked Best Friend.
“I don’t know. It’s not on my screen here,” replied Alex the Salesman.
“Hmmm—” murmured Best Friend.
Ten minutes later, the salesman was trying to sell us pieces we didn’t want nor need, and then – he kept telling us we couldn’t get the free delivery (although it is stated in the advertisement there is free delivery).
“Here,” Best Friend motioned to me to look under the chair. “See if you can find the label.”
I looked underneath, found the label, and saw, “Made in China.”
“China,” I said as I got up. “Made in Chy—na.”
By this time, Alex the Salesman was questioning why we didn’t want a living room suite made in China. He attempted to explain away why everything is made there and the “high quality.”
“Because we are good Americans, and we buy American!” Best Friend shot back.
Alex the Salesman wouldn’t honor the free delivery and somehow added a thousand dollars to the order that we could not find out why.
We walked out. We’re going to keep on looking for the right living room suite. I can wait.
©2022 Colcannon Metropolis, excerpt from “A Cautionary Tale”