It was April 30th, 1991 and unseasonably hot. I was due to move into my new apartment. I drove over to Ikea and loaded my cart up with the “essentials”. Queen-size bed frame, foam mattress, kitchen table and chairs and a bedside table. Much of the other stuff I would bring up from London.
I got to the cashier, the bill was $1,100 and I gave her my credit card. It was declined, bugger. Tried another card, same thing. Tried to get them to put half on one card and half on the other. That didn’t work. It was getting close to closing time. Panic was setting in. I moved my stuff away to let other customers go through. There was a cash machine, so I tried to get some cash. The machine ate my card. I phoned the credit card company and got nowhere. Time is ticking, it’s very close to closing time. The crazy part is that I had a cheque made out to me for $6,000 from my employer, in my pocket.
I went back to the cashier. “Ok, take off the kitchen stuff and I’ll come back for it tomorrow.”, I suggested. The cashier removed the kitchen stuff and I was able to pay with my remaining credit card.
It was now past closing time and I grabbed my cart and headed for the parking lot.
I had rented a roof rack and attached it to the roof. I started loading my car when I suddenly realized I still had the kitchen furniture on my cart. Bloody hell! Now what? I ran back to the store. It was closed and shuttered. No one was home. Oh well, deal with it tomorrow.
I finally got everything packed and off I went to my new apartment.
I managed to unload everything and got it up to my apartment. I was exhausted and now it was time to assemble the bed. I figured I’d do the rest tomorrow.
Suddenly I remembered that it was April 30th. Tax deadline. Bugger, my income tax papers were on my desk in my office. The good thing was the office was not that far, the bad thing was, I had no idea where there would be an open post-office at this time of night.
I got to the office and started trying to find a post-office. This is well before the internet days.
It’s now dark outside and getting on towards 11pm. If I don’t get the tax in before midnight, I’ll pay a penalty.
I phoned one of the radio stations and asked them where there was a post-office open until midnight. Eventually I was pointed to the post-office in the North York Centre a mile or so away. Great, I know where that is. It is now 11:30pm. I ran down to my car and drove over to the North York Centre. There were no parking spaces to be had. Bugger! I parked outside in a No Stopping zone. I was only going to be a minute. I ran in to the post-office and ….. waited in line. I wasn’t the only tardy idiot. I mailed the envelope, ran back to the car and found a ticket for $15 on my window. I found out later that this was a favourite spot for parking attendants on this day and time. Who knew? Oh well, I’m too exhausted to worry about it and the irony didn’t hit ‘til the next day. If I had posted my taxes a day later, my penalty would have been only a few pennies. It was now May Day. How ironic. May Day is what the sailors say when they need rescuing. Comes from the French for “Help me”.
Meanwhile, back at the apartment I started to get my bed ready. It was now 12:30pm. I opened the foam mattress package and a note fluttered out. I picked it up and read it. It said, “WARNING, this mattress has been vacuum-packed. Please allow 5 hours for the mattress to fully expand”.
May Day; May Day, I thought to myself. Geez, can this day get any worse?
I dragged the mattress into my bedroom and started to unroll it. I rolled it out onto the floor and it rolled back. It was like one of those bloody New Year’s Eve noise makers. Now what? I tried turning it over, but it made no difference. This is crazy, I’m exhausted, the apartment is boiling and I need a shower.
I decided to put a piece of the furniture that I had just bought, on each of the corners of the mattress. Threw a top sheet on the mattress, showered and slept on the floor on the paper-thin mattress. Figured I’d wake up in the morning 6” higher and with an outline of my body in the mattress.
The morning came and the mattress still hadn’t fully expanded. Oh well! Should be ok by tonight.
It was ok by the time I got home that night.
Finally got everything assembled, no bits left over. The bed and the mattress lasted almost 20 years and survived many disassemblies and reassemblies.
I brought it with me when I moved in with Angie. It lasted another 5 years and eventually, we bought a new mattress and frame. Bought a top-of-the-line king-size Serta. Pillow-top, deep mattress, the best.
After one year, it felt like we were sleeping on camp beds. The mattress had a huge curve where I slept and a modest curve where Angie slept. On my side it was like sleeping on the side of a mountain and when I turned it was like sleeping on a slope. You can’t turn a pillow-top mattress over, so there was no way of avoiding this issue. Angie and I say our goodnights and then we disappear from each other’s sight.
Every-so-often we arrange conjugal visits. Quite honestly, by the time I get up the hill and over to the other side, I’m beat. Again, who knew? I thought for the price we paid, that design flaw would not be there.
