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Living on my own, has me resorting to just eating butter.

The hardest part of growing up is telling your parents that you are moving out. Typically, this is a problem people face at 18 years old but for me its more likely to happen 12 years later. I’ve lived at home for far too long since coming back from Vancouver. They call us the boomerang generation.  We leave for college, come back and live at home, leave for a few years then return home again to get our bearings. Mostly for financial reasons, but in my case, because I’m really lazy.

I wasn’t sure how I’d break it to my parents that I’d rented an apartment and secretly started moving small boxes out during the week. It wasn’t easy explaining the missing furniture, emptying bookcases and even my own often random disappearances.

It came down to a head one morning when the night before, I had packed up a few boxes and lined them up in the hallway while my parents peacefully slept. But I was so tired, I lied down to rest, and awoke the next morning. Crap, I thought. I didn’t move those boxes last night.

I walked out of my room and my mom and dad were sitting at the breakfast table talking quietly. Here it comes. They saw me and started asking, what is with those boxes. Surely they figured it out. My mom already knew, but my dad took a deep sigh and had to sit down. His only question was, who’s going to pay for the cable bill now?

I got ready for work, with them talking and walking around asking if I needed boxes. Surprisingly, they got over it pretty quickly. My dad called out to me as I was putting my coat on and said, “Before you leave can you move my TV into your old room?” He’s already planning out how my old room is going to look.

My parents were reasonable and very supportive. A far cry from the last time I tried to move out; not only move out, but move 3,000 kms away. There were no tears or guilt trip this time, just questions concerning logistics and how we were going to get a cable outlet into my old room. My dad had already started packing up his stuff to move into my old room. We ended up pulling about 40 feet of cable through the condo’s air duct and draping down the wall, held together by a twist-tie, to his digital cable box. Decor is not a main concern for my dad. Making sure the Fairchild channel still works, that was his paramount concern.

This, taken just before I wrapped it in Saran wrap.

It took a week of not very stealthy preparation, but I’ve finished everything relatively quickly. I started with a naked apartment, and now, thanks to the Brick, I have a queen-sized bed, a nice TV and a couch that I have seriously considered wrapping in Saran wrap. Most Asians will understand this oriental tradition of wrapping things in plastic. Certainly not for fear of dust mites, but more for preserving furniture until long after you are dead and gone.

I never thought I could love anything more than my Mac laptop, but as it turns out, I love my new couch! I hesitated for a few days on making the investment, but after dreaming about lying on it on a lazy Sunday sometime down the road, I walked into the Brick and asked them to wrap that baby up.

The sales team at the Brick have recently discovered their new paycheck in the form of this striking young Vietnamese man. Generally, Vietnamese people are dauntingly hard-nosed when negotiating sales. This, I was told by Ahim the Brick Sales Guy. “Most Vietnamese people are really tough,” he said. “But you, you are the easiest sale ever.” I couldn’t decide if it was a compliment or a slight, so I just said thanks.

Not only do Vietnamese people fight for every penny, they would rather sell out their own relatives to avoid paying more than 50% of the ticketed price. Its a cultural thing. So when I went in and bought a bed, tv and couch and was going to pay full price, instantaneous in-fighting broke out. I was pretty sure I heard someone get on the PA system and said, “Sucker in Aisle 5″.

And here, I had to make sure each sales guy got their fair share of commission on each of the sales. Like hyenas scavenging over a dead gazelle, they clamoured over the cash registers hurriedly pressing numbers and telling me about these wonderful accessories for my TV like a wall bracket or a $50 Obama bobble-head that would make a great addition to any living room. I respectfully declined the wall bracket, but did briefly consider the bobble-head.

After my warm carcass began cooling down and they realized they couldn’t get much more out of me, I walked out of there admittedly feeling a little bit ravaged. Well, at least delivery was free.

Unfortunately, I’m just not that good at bartering. In fact, not only did I pay full price, they up-sold me on a 5-year extended warranty plan for my couch (which I love). I also bought two memory-foam pillows for another two bills and a dust-mite killing mattress cover. It’s no secret that I will go to any lengths to kill dust mites.

I suppose there is a course I can take that will arm me with negotiating skills when embarking on purchasing outings. I don’t know how my parents could be proud of me without these skills. How could I ever face them, knowing I have been paying full price for big ticket items all my life? Luckily, I’m very good at hiding things from them.