The Mattress

The Mattress - A writing exercise I did for fun, training for NaNoWriMo

Mr. and Mrs. Flint walked into the local discount mattress shop on a warm Sunday afternoon. It was the 17th of July. The store was located near the end of a strip mall in the suburban sprawl of a nearby big city. The middle aged couple walked up to the sliding doors, pausing simultaneously as the automatic doors slowly slid open, and walked into the air-conditioned shop. Both Mr. and Mrs. Flint stared straight ahead as they entered, without a word between them.

The usual fanfare of nothingness assaulted the senses of the two. Covers, pillows and mattresses silently greeted them on each side. A tall lanky temp slowly slid behind a pillar, eyeing them warily. A taller, balder, older man, unnoticed by the lanky teenager, noticed this and begun to berate him. Mr. Flint's blank stare showed an attempt to register the event, however, a blink left his expression an even lower level of blank. The temp worker skulked over to the couple, shoulders hunched.

"Welcome to Wally's Wacky Warehouse of Bedding," the teenager exclaimed with disinterest, "how may I serve you this fine day?"

"We're looking for-" Mr. Flint began.

"We'll be just fine, thank you. We'll just be looking around for now" Mrs Flint interrupted.

Mr. Flint followed behind his wife, as she led the way deeper into the sea of mattresses. Mr. Flint's eyes glazed over and failed to notice the perturbed glance of the young boy. A look over his shoulder noticed the stare of the floor manager from behind the same pillar the boy used before. Eyes widening, the worker rotated on his heels and followed behind the two customers.

Mrs. Flint stopped in front of a large plump blue feathery deal, complete with matching sheets and pillowcases. Mr. Flint cocked his head unseeingly at the concoction of comfort. Mrs. Flint continued on, pursued by her husband. The next bed was even more plush then the previous, nearly boasting it's sheer softness potential.

"What do you think?" She asked.

A hand slowly sank into the accepting clutches of cotton and soft. "Hm, seems pretty nice."

"Well, we don't want something too comfy or we'll get back problems. Next." She said and continued forward. An apologetic shrug was the only consolation the mattress received. The boy slinked behind in apathetic succession. A quick glance at his own part-time stalker gave him a straighter back and a more hurried step.

"Well maybe this one will be better." Mrs Flint pointed to an old brute of a mattress. The kind of mattress who would win wars and trek through a desert for months and make it to the other side stronger then before. The kind of mattress that would wipe it's behind with sand paper. The kind of mattress that-

"It's as hard as a brick." Mr. Flint stated. The stoic mattress did not yield to his pushing hand. It's resistance was palpable. He backed away from it.

"Uh, this model is a new version of-" The worker attempted to break into the conversation.

"It's not that hard at all, besides, Flannery was telling me that a hard bed increases your white blood cell count." Mrs. Flint countered. Her body angled ever so slightly, effectively edging out a crestfallen lanky boy from the discussion.

"I think I saw Flannery huffing paint in her garage one day." Mr. Flint said. He jabbed a finger at the mattress, but it's strength was unmatched; it refused to give.

She huffed. "Whatever, it's too expensive anyway."

"Actually this model is part of the wacky weekend sale, 7% off if you buy it before 5pm." The lanky boy said to the backs of the retreating customers. He looked to the side to see his bald boss nodding. His gaze was firm and his pen tapping against clipboard, consistent.

"This one looks pretty nice." A delighted yellow mattress was the object of his praise. "It's not too soft, but it's got a nice firm feel to it." The mattress beamed.

"It's too expensive," the mattress wilted to Mrs. Flint's response, "we can't afford something like that. Maybe we could if I could figure out why those mysterious charges keep appearing on my credit card." Mr. Flint stopped his caressing of the soft surface of the mattress. "I have no idea why I keep getting this charge of $39.99 every month from something called 'Barnyard Palace'."

"That's unfortunate." Mr Flint said. He cleared his throat, he sniffed, "I guess we could have put the mattress on my card, but it's still maxed out. I didn't even know it was possible to even buy vodka in such large bottles. Unfortunately the liquor store refused to refund me since someone had drank it all."

Mrs. Flint's skin color gained a couple degrees of pink. The Flints stared at the yellow mattress. The mattress sat there in indecisive silence. As one, the Flints moved to the next mattress with a confused teenager in tow.

"Let's just get this one, it's cheap." Mr Flint pointed at the discount of the day. The mattress might have been upset had it not been sitting in the store for a few months. Or had it not been a mattress.

"Cheap, you mean like the flowers on my birthday?" Mrs Flint asked.

"No: cheap like the Fresca you mix with your vodka."

"Still cheaper than jerking off to sheep."

The boy's ears reddened slightly. "At least a sheep wouldn't throw up all over the car at 3am and pass out in the driveway." Mr Flint offered.

"This model's double discounted today, nearly 70% off, it comes with a free bedside table" The teenager interjected. A nearby bald-headed manager nodded enthusiastically.

Mrs. Flint turned to the boy, "does it come with any sheets? Preferably something with a farm animal motif. I believe my husband would be more interested if there were pictures of horses on it."

"Well, uh, we do have sheets with goats I think." The boy scratched the back of his head. The manager looked up to the rafters, scratching his chin.

"Are they stain resistant?" Mr Flint asked. "Actually anything that doesn't dissolve in sweat that's 17% alcohol."

"Well, to be honest, I'm not sure we have anything like that in stock." The boy answered. The manager shook his head.

"Well as long as the mattress doesn't get arrested in a bathroom near a llama petting zoo on Easter Sunday" Mrs flint said.

Mr flint glanced at his wife. "I'd be fine with this one," He turned to the temp, "just one question though: is it the kind of mattress that will get drunk at my son's birthday and set his dog on fire while trying to light the birthday cake?"

"I'm pretty sure it's not that kind of mattress." With arms at his sides, the boy affirmed his customer with a nod. The manager and mattress both agreed.

Mrs. Flint blinked a few times. "Can we get those goat sheets for free?"

The boy looked to the manager, who nodded fervently. "Yes."

"We'll take it" Mr. Flint said.

-

FIN