EARLIER THIS week, at the urging of my 70-year-old bones, I bought a new mattress. Even better, I bought an adjustable frame. No more stacking pillows behind me to read or watch TV!

In the first store I visited, the salesperson didn’t impress. I recognized some ineptly applied, medium-pressure tactics, and there were outright false claims about the healing power of sonic waves built into higher-cost frames. (In fairness, odds are she was only reciting what they’d fed her, that she believed, in training.)

There was one high point. She said, “Let me show you the mattress my parents are on.” I said, “Are you sure we should disturb them?” It took a moment, but she actually laughed. It may have been a new experience for her.

“This is my first stop.” I told her, “I’m going to do some comparison shopping. I may be back.” Which was true. I hadn’t ruled her out. At that point she all but fell to the floor and wrapped her arms around my ankles. I didn’t much care for that, and neither did my ankles. (Again, in fairness, I’m well aware that, in retail, letting a prospect leave usually means never seeing that prospect again.)

The next store struck a refreshing contrast. The salesperson was pleasant, not pushy, and rolled well with what I flatter myself by calling my humor. They had the products I wanted, and the pricing stretched but fell within my budget. So I bought.

I was prepared to wait a week or more for delivery, but my bed arrived the next day. Even more surprising, the delivery dudes were eminently pleasant and helpful—even though it was 7:30 p.m., 98 degrees Fahrenheit outside, they had one more delivery to go, and they’d been working since 7 that morning.

Whoever heard of having a great experience buying and taking delivery of a bed?

Enough time with no repercussions has passed that I feel I can safely share this. It happened a few weeks ago.

I had pulled up to a T intersection, waiting for traffic to clear so I could make a left. Traffic was unusually heavy, so I was there for a while. In time, along came a pedestrian. The car behind me meant I couldn’t back up, and the moving wall of vehicles in front of me meant I couldn’t pull forward. Sorry dude, I thought, but you’ll have to walk around me.

Nope. He headed straight for me. I thought, Panhandler? Yikes, I thought as he drew closer, is he going to rob me? Are my doors locked? Oh, good. They are.

Clunk! He’d walked straight into my car door. A bewildered look crossed his face. Seeming to collect himself, he tried to walk forward again. Clunk! Once again into my door, once again with the bewildered look. I wondered, Insurance scam? Will he claim I hit him?

Nope again. Re-collecting himself, this time he successfully walked around the back of my car, found the sidewalk on the other side, and kept going.

He appeared unhurt. I suspect he was very, very high on something.

Later, when I checked, I saw that my car door bore no evidence of the encounter.