Sleep Alternatives

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You can sleep on it, lounge on it, read on it, exercise on it, and dream on it…in fact, the uses of the versatile mattress pictured here are practically endless.

After the first few nights at 48th Ninth Avenue, sleeping on the floor lost its luster. My back hurt. The Village Voice featured several pages of bed advertisements each week — “a full range of sleep alternatives.” The traditional Japanese futon, or sleeping mat offered a popular solution to the couch versus bed conundrum. Planet Futon (let’s call it) was only a couple blocks south of the Railway Age office on Hudson Street.

A salesperson latched onto me seconds after entering. She was in her thirties, medium-frumpy, wearing blue jeans and Earth shoes. Caffeinated chat flowed from her thin lips. Not necessarily someone who slept well herself.

Her name was “Sunsh” as in Sunshine. I swallowed a giggle.

An old-school convertible couch looked to be way out of my league, price wise, so my guide led me to the main showroom. The basic futon was too basic for my taste: three cushions attached with hinges so they could be either flattened into a mattress or arranged into a vaguely chair-like stance. Clearly, a futon required some kind of brace or support to qualify as furniture.

Scrunching around on the various crossbreed models in the store I found them unsatisfying as both bed and chair. Buying a frame so I could actually sit on the futon without ruining my back felt like the only way to go: more money, but less than a real bed or couch. My eyes fell on an off-white love seat sofa that enfolded a futon cushion. This made for an acceptably spongy compromise, though not exactly the best of both worlds. I would still be spending the night on the floor, in effect, but during the day I’d be sitting on a couch of sorts – a stationary object with back support.

“I thought you weren’t interested in convertibles,” said Sunsh, accusingly, as I circled the futon love seat for the fourth time.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. I said they cost too much! But I like couch beds better, just the plain futon seems too cushion-y.”

“Then this futon love seat has to be what you’re looking for.”

“I guess so but $200 is way more than I can spend.”

“It’s $225. Hey wait, I can probably, maybe, take a little off.”

“That’s nice, but it might not be enough. I’ve got, like $150.”

“Why did you even come over here? Sorry, no, I didn’t mean that. I can’t, no I shouldn’t do this, but you seem like a nice guy. What about $175?”

“Look, I appreciate your offer but I’m overextended. Sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t have come in here and played it cheap.”

“I’ll give you this for $160. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, that I can handle but what about the uh delivery?”

“You didn’t think of that before? Delivery fee is $25.”

“See I can’t really afford this, sorry. Thanks, though.”

“How far away do you live?”

“Not far, 14th Street and 9th Avenue. Why?”

“I could help, you know, I have a car.”

How much is this going to cost, I wondered. For a split second I considered bolting from the store right then and there. But the promise of a good night’s sleep was too seductive to resist.

“Are you sure? I can give you some gas money.”

“No, no. I’ve got a Toyota hatchback, it’ll fit right in.”

I rode in the shotgun seat. The loveseat hung out the back hatch, tethered to the rear bumper by yours truly, an ex-boy scout. The super at my new place, a chubby Spanish guy named Ray, was younger than Jeff, and far more capable. By chance he met us at the door, and helped me haul the pseudo-sofa up one flight of steps and then tilt it through my front door. I slipped him my last $10.

He winked at me and turned toward his apartment. Sunsh was now standing in the hallway. She shifted her feet, unsure of herself.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“Yeah, come on in.”

I cut off clear ribbons of packing tape with my pocketknife. Then I shoved the love seat against the wall, facing the dresser I’d recently bought at Salvation Army’s thrift shop.

“Have a seat.” I switched on the radio, turned low. “I don’t have much to offer you. Maybe some ginger ale? Or tea? I just moved in.”

“Yeah I know. No I don’t want anything to drink.”

Suavely I opened the cheap folding chair Jeff had sold me as a “going away present” from Washington Place, and sat down. Sunsh settled into the futon love seat.

“So er how did you get into selling futons?”

“Nobody ‘gets into’ selling futons. You end up doing it.”

“Do you sleep on one at home, you know, a futon? From the store?”

“I sleep on a waterbed.”

“Really? I knew somebody who had a huge waterbed. So big he had to move it to the basement before this old house collapsed.”

“Yeah I live in Queens, there’s more room for it out there.”

“I didn’t like sleeping on a waterbed, the time or two I tried. It made me feel sore, like I need the support of something firmer.”

“So you’re all by yourself here.”

This was not phrased as a question. I nodded anyway.

“With a brand new bed to…sleep on.”

“Ah I appreciate you helping me out, really I do. But…”

“But?”

“But well that’s all, really. Thanks for setting me up.”

“Is that all you want? A new couch?”

“That’s enough. I mean, hey, you gave me the hard sell.”

“Well, excuse me, maybe this is why I don’t do deliveries.”

“Look, let me pay you something then. I feel bad now.”

“I don’t need your money. You got what you wanted.”

After that, I went out of my way to avoid walking past Planet Futon.

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