It’s 8:50 a.m. on a Saturday in November, 45 degrees and falling, and I’m standing in a steady downpour. I got up earlier today than I usually do for work. I’m one of about 100 people waiting patiently for the doors to open at the famed Design Within Reach Warehouse Sale in Cincinnati. (Actually, we’re in Hebron, Kentucky, in an industrial park near the local airport.) My friend Cathy has scored big at these sales before—including an LC 4 Chaise Longue in cowhide, retail price $2650, for a mere $500. Today she’s in the market for a Theatre Loveseat, color negotiable, and lamps. I’m just here to help her decide. (Famous last words.)

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The doors are opened more or less on time by a guy dressed as Flavor Flav. Not far inside the warehouse are two large tripod floor lamp, one with a dented shade. Cathy wants one, but at $400, these lamps are still not cheap. If she waits, the price could get reduced later. But there are only two of them. The first dilemma of the day. Cathy wrings her hands, calls over a salesperson, and a giant SOLD sign is slapped on the lamp without the dents. It’s just 9:05, but Cathy is already worried she’s missed out on the couches. She sends me off to claim one as she fills out her order form for the lamp.

This is how it works at a DWR sale: Similar items are arranged in large groups. You find the furniture you want, and if it’s too big to carry, you stay with it until a red-shirted salesperson comes your way. (Today it doesn’t take long; there are a lot of them.) It’s very exciting after that: The salesperson shouts, “Runner!” to alert the guys who will move your furniture to the pickup area. All morning, the echoing roar of the crowd is punctuated by yells of “Runnerrrr!” It’s all rather futuristic.

I choose a chocolate brown Theatre Loveseat I think Cathy will like. I notice my jacket is dripping onto the leather. I notice everyone else’s is doing the same thing. Then I hear Cathy calling me—she’s found the loveseat in light blue. “Is it too trendy?” she worries. She checks the price—normally $2898, today $1900—and blanches; it’s not as cheap as she’d hoped. Friends and coworkers wander by—you tend to see the same local hipsters at every DWR Warehouse Sale. One by one they reassure Cathy of her choice.

I take off alone, and my I’m-just-looking resolve promptly crumbles when I see a long line of Verner Panton Chairs that I have coveted for years. Instead of $225 each, they’re $135. I decide to buy two in limited-edition orange. (I briefly consider buying six orange chairs, until I imagine how this might actually look in my dining room—these chairs are really orange.) I am ridiculously excited.

Meanwhile, Cathy is examining the Louis Ghost Armchairs for scratches, and decides to buy one in crystal ($200—regularly $334). The truth is, most of the items here are in perfect condition, but it doesn’t hurt to check thoroughly. For instance, there’s an Eames La Chaise missing a noticeable chunk of fiberglass. Even heavily discounted, it’s priced at $3,000.

Suddenly all the lights in the warehouse go out. It’s dark enough that I can barely make out the numbers on the price tags, but aside from a murmur through the crowd, it’s as if nothing has happened at all—not a single person pauses or heads for the exit. These are serious shoppers. The only problem is, the power outage takes the computers with it. We decide to come back and finalize our purchases later.

When we return, the sale is nearly at its end for the day. Cathy is disappointed that prices haven’t dropped, though there are quite a few new couches and chairs out on the floor. (Prices are usually dramatically reduced on Sunday.)

I happily pay for my very orange chairs, but Cathy spends a long time staring at her sales sheet. The woman at the checkout is patient and smiling—she has witnessed this event many, many times before. Even with an additional ten percent off (if you’re on the DWR email list, you get a coupon), Cathy doesn’t want to spend this much—and anyway, she’s planning to come back tomorrow. She ends up buying the Theatre Loveseat only.

She later tells me that the next day, the tripod lamp was back out on the floor, reduced to $270. This time, she took it home.

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The DWR Warehouse Sale is held on occasion near Cincinnati, New York City, and San Francisco. Visit the DWR site to get notified of the next sale.