For a long time, I didn't have a bedframe. It seemed redundant; I mean, I had that other thing that the mattress rests upon and really what else do you need?
The bed frame is the subtlest of status symbols. Being ostentatious with my iPhone is one of life's little pleasures--at this point, almost everyone has the "rare" white one if they truly want it. But I know, man. Day one, I went to the store, and I bought it. And even when I didn't need to know the time I pulled that little baby out of the pocket and checked it. "12:14," I'd think, "Exactly as expected."
Here's a universal truth: humans are terrible, and we all try to demonstrate how much better we are than everyone else. You can be altruistic and try to help others and yadda yadda and it doesn't matter. When you examine the basest reasons for why you do anything, it's because you want it to look good. There's nothing wrong with that; it's part of being a social creature. I donate to charity, support the ASPCA, volunteer, help friends move--I do it all to raise my social stock. The actual assistance or help I provide someone happens to be a fringe benefit. Maybe this is cynical. To me, it's honest.
So when Facetiming with a friend of mine a few weeks ago, I gave her a tour of my apartment. When we got to the bedroom, she saw my bed on the floor and said "just like a real college kid." The conversation took a few more minutes to wrap up and when I hung up, I couldn't help but be fascinated by her observation. Is this how everyone sees it? I have girls over here! Part of being social is being social. Maybe this is shallow. To me, it's honest. Do people have a hard time seeing past the lack of bed frame? What does that lack of bed frame say about me as a person?
The littlest comments cut the most.
Procuring a bed frame, when you think about it, couldn't be easier. Hit up craigslist, buy one for five bucks, try not to get murdered in a Wendy's parking lot. In, out, done. But just getting some shitass' old bed frame wasn't going to work for me. Sure, it's just hunks of metal and slots and maybe a few functioning wheels if you get lucky, but people are going to see this. This wasn't just a bed frame. This was my bed frame, and it needed to speak a certain volume about me. Why I think this way is likely due to some sort of brain damage.
Getting a new one was the only answer. And paying a certain price was going to be key. When grocery shopping, I skip the generic food aisle. Are you kidding me? I'm not going to eat Fritz like some goddamn peasant in the Ukraine. I'm going to eat Ritz, like a man of my stature should. There's this lens through which I view the world--kaleidoscopic by nature, obfuscating, infuriating, necessary--but it makes a certain logical sense to me. I wasn't joking about that brain damage thing; there is a wiring misconnect there that affects day-to-day operations. And I would never medicate that away because in a way it defines me as human: unique in my insanity. Mundanity is overrated.
The curtain opens on an unseasonably warm Sunday. Like a dunce, I put on a fleece jacket because in my mind this helps hide the parts of me that I'm uneasy with. Off I go to a Slumberland furniture store, which--get this--is staffed entirely by people who couldn't making it selling used cars. Mean, maybe, but honest. A helpful Rick (is there any other kind?) offers to show me the bed frame section of the store after I make up an excuse for needing one, as the truth of the event would make it difficult for me to maintain face. I'm the only person who thinks like this. She's called the Iron Lady, or at least she is to me, when I introduce a woman obtainable only in my fantasies to her; the brown metal gleams with a grim urgency as the crossbars meet at Escherian angles. My bed is my playground, my fortress, my puzzle box. Together we will solve the mysteries of the universe, and the only reason she acquiesces to my offer is the Lady. Firm. Unbending. Comfortable.
Our Dark Lady comes with a steep price: my self-respect for knowing all to well that I'm doing this not for myself, but for another. Also, it's 130 dollars.
Until an asteroid,
Adam
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