Big things in big packages
Because if they had, they would know that everything big, small, or miniscule comes in large packages at a warehouse store.
We recently purchased some outdoor furniture at one of those big warehouse o‘ retail. I say “we” but I really mean my husband with his broken foot and an employee repeating a break room poster, “Sorry, we can’t load that on there for you,” were the only two people present at the sale.
When buying furniture at a store that also sells pallets of paper plates and grosses of Teriyaki sauce, one should be aware that there is a catch. Because they can’t make you buy a dozen wicker steamer trunks and a 6-pack of chaise lounges, they have to find some way to make it warehouse-worthy.
So if you can’t get more, get a bigger box. As in ginormous. You would think that the furniture was going on the Jolly Green Giant’s lanai from the enormity of the boxes. But despite their magnitude, my husband single-handedly (and footedly) loaded these monoliths into the back of a pickup truck, which going down 60 must have looked -- and driven -- like cinder blocks piled on top of a Matchbook car in the wind.
When he got home three hours later from the two-mile drive, the kids were unexpectedly thrilled with the new furniture. I didn’t really understand why weather-resistant wicker would elicit such unbridled joy in children, but I still can’t stifle a contented smile when opening a cold can of Coca-Cola, so who am I to judge? But after everything was unpacked, no one was around to sit on the new chairs or plop their feet on the ottoman. Instead, I found them arranging the giant boxes into a make-shift city in the front yard. They had already decorated their cardboard palace in early Crayola. Pillows and stuffed animals lined the floors, and my daughter was searching around for a hamster costume so she could pretend to run through a Habitrail.
I guess I had forgotten about the unique and simple joy of the big box, but I’m glad my kids reminded me. When darkness drew the curtains on their corrugated kingdom, we dragged it all in the garage for more fun the next day.
I suppose there are bargains in bulk. Some more than others.
-- Tracey Henry, the Suburban Diva