Home is where the mind is

"Let me tell you a story," the salesperson begins. The words are not even out of his mouth before I know I am going to get ripped off. Deceived, duped. But that is who I am. In my mind, I am a rational, discerning person. A stoic, perhaps. A modern Marcus Aurelius.

But in reality, I'm constantly swayed by my emotions, instincts, impulses, impressions, suspicions. An old-fashioned Achilles.

The salesperson gently guides me to a square table. As he pulls out my chair, I inhale his perfum. A mix of vanilla, honey, coconut.

"Can I offer you coffee? Tea? Milk? Or would you prefer something refreshing? Juice? Water?" I want to shake my head. Because I know all too well how this works. Nothing is free. Nothing is costless. Not in the sales business. When you are given a gift, people have a tendency to want to reciprocate. You get a free bread roll; you end up giving them a whole bakery.

As I sip my café latte (with a splash of caramel syrup), the salesperson sits across from me. With a smile he watches me enjoy my drink. His short black hair is impeccably cut, his cheeks freshly shaven that morning. He is wearing a crisp white shirt with a strawberry red tie. Despite his polished appearance, his smooth outward form, he acts somewhat clumsy. He drops a pen, rubs his hands nervously, and cleans his glasses in an overly deliberate manner. He wants to prove he is ordinairy human being too?

But it works. I am like Play-Doh in his hands. He knows it but pretends not to notice. I realize it and pretend not to see. It must be a gift. To make people feel special. To pose that anything can happen – fires, financial crises, war, panic attacks, illness of your favorite influencer – but the customer is the center of the universe. That is how I feel this afternoon. I am being listened to. I matter. No objections, no distrust, no obstacles can bar me from this position. Here in this store, I am the child. I'm being stroked, comforted, indulged, pampered. As long as I'm willing to pay.

"That’s indeed the case," the salesperson says casually. "I promised to tell you a story before we decide to buy anything."

I hear it. 'We'. But I do not react. Somehow, I find it comforting to have an ally in this large furniture store. Buying a new bed is no small matter. More than thirty percent of a human life is spent sleeping. We tend to underestimate this. Sleep is the foundation of our lives. A bed is the cornerstone of our existence.

"It must have been five years ago," the salesperson begins. "The bed specialty store was doing well. Commercially. Many regular customers, even more new customers. By constantly focusing on quality and customer wishes, market share was gained every year."

The reason I am looking for a different bed is not because the current one is worn out. Or damaged. Far from it. The bed looks brand new. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with the mattress either. But I wake up dead tired every morning. As if I had not slept at all. And honestly that is what happens. I lie awake all night.

"The shop received many positive reviews," the salesperson continues. "On social media, in newspapers, in magazines. People praised the ambiance, the atmosphere. But they were particularly impressed with the human-centered approach of the sales team. Whether you bought a pillow or a four-poster bed, you were treated with the same attentiveness. Every customer was important."

How many counselors and therapists have I not seen? How many familiy members and friends have I not talked to? About why I'm so restless, so tense, so desperate? As if I were a crippled antelope on a dry steppe. Always afraid of being attacked by a lion or hyena.

"The tenth anniversary of the store was celebrated in grand style," the salesperson reports. "Part of the showroom was transformed into a theater. There were singers, speakers, and DJs. All the regular customers were invited. There was food and drink in abundance."

That's what keeps me occupied: if only I could just enough sleep. That would be a start. That should be the beginning of a new existence, a different life. Fresh, well-rested, alert, effective.

"Everything changed when it turned out that someone had spent the whole night in one of the most expensive beds. The next day after the party,” says the salesperson. But it came to light not to be a guest. Or an employee. Or an univited visitor. It was a homeless man. Dirty beard, filthy clothes, covered by his own vomit.”

That is why I am in this bed store today. If I make the right choice, it can be the beginning of a new life. Imagine what I could do if I could get a good night's sleep. I could suppress my fears. I could make plans, shape my future, become a real personality.

"Of course, the vagrant was ordered to leave the store," says the salesperson. "However, the next day it turned out that he had slept in one of the beds again. Customers complained about the stench. Employees felt threatened. The police were called."

This is not the first furniture store specialiized in beds I have visited. I think I have stopped by all the retail outlets in the area. Not to mention the time I have spent on the various online shops.

"The officers on duty managed to persuade the drifter to leave with patience and great tact," says the salesperson. " The cleaning crew was hired, the carpet was disinfected, the bedding disposed.”

Despite the realization of how necessary a comfortable bed and mattress can be for my sleep, I still hesitate. The prices are too high. For the price of a luxury bed, I could also buy a decent used car. Is it worth it to me? Am I not being ripped off, hoodwinked?

"Meanwhile, a journalist from a local newspaper had gotten wind of the situation," says the salesperson. "She published an article in which she made it seem as if the store wanted the money from the rich customers but turned a blind eye to the poor. Where was the social responsibility of the bet speciality outlet? Wasn't it too easy to throw a homeless person back on the street while selling luxury goods to the wealthy and well-to-do citizens?"

This is my dilemma. In my quest for a restful and meaningful existence, I must make choices. But what to what costs? To the degree of how much uncertainty, misery, trouble and diffilculties?

"The owners were shocked by the negative publicity," says the salesperson. "Of course, the journalist's article was very tendentious, misleading and biased. Nevertheless, the damage was done. Loyal customers asked questions. Even regional politics got involved. How do we deal with our poor fellow human beings?

Is that my problem? I want to change but it should not cost anything. Do I really want to lead a different life? Or do I dare not? To take the leap into the dark? Am I afraid of the consequences?

"In the meantime, the beggar kept coming," says the salesperson. "How he did it, nobody knew, but he always managed to spend the night in one of the most highly priced beds. Calling the police would lead to big problems. The store's reputation was at stake."

Suppose I succeed. I have a nice sleeping furniture bed. I sleep like a log. Then there is no more excuse. Then I must make something of my life. Then I must take risks, become a new person.

"They decided to approach it completely differently," says the salesperson. "The vagabond was offered a job. And more than that. Training, coaching and personal guidance. Of course, that did not go without a hitch. But the management and the enployees stood their ground. They took responsibility and stuck to their offer."

I look at him. How he moves his hands, how calmly and articulately the sentences and words come out of his mouth.

"This was five years ago,” says the salesperson. “I eventually completed my sales studies; I gave up alcohol. I have now bought a house where I live with my boyfriend and a dachshund."

I sense, he does not tell this story for the first time. And who can check if it is true? But do I want to? It is much more enjoyable to pretend he is telling the truth. To put it on that he is being sincere and honest. Like I am a good friend. A family member.

As soon as he finishes his story, we walk through the aisles. He talks, gives advice. So that an hour later I sign my name. A confirmation that I have bought a bed with the value of a new car. And you know what? I think I am really happy with it.