“Oh. My. God! You’ve never been there? Well what are you waiting for?”
“I can’t believe you live so close to it, and have never been!”
“Well, I spent two whole hours there once and STILL didn’t see everything there was to see.”
“You’ll LOVE it! There’s something for everyone!”
Liars.. The whole fucking bunch of them.
What am I talking about?
In simple terms, this shithole is easily translated from Swedish to mean “HELL”.
According to my extensive research there are 37
too many IKEA stores in the US, and I live within 10 miles of one of them. People would look at me as though I was taking a naked bubble bath with my Grandfather while watching amputee porn when I would tell them I’ve never been to IKEA.
Well that all changed a few days ago.
I should’ve known to trust my instincts, as they very rarely let me down. I mean the name alone is ridiculous enough to keep me away from there, but I decided it would behoove me to at least see what there was to offer. However, I wasn’t going alone. I thought it would be a good idea to bring the whole damn family with me.
As soon as I pulled into the parking lot, I should’ve known what kind of shopping experience this would be when I saw these folks.
The parking lot was packed. My first words were “Oh hell no!” and I tried to make a break for it. Then I began hearing comments from the back seat “But you said we were going to IKEA!” which I translated into “Bitch, I hate you. You lied about taking us to IKEA so now I’m going to start huffing all of that spray paint you’ve collected in the garage from your various and sundry pinterest projects, and not only that, but all three of us kids are now forming a badass white gang where new members are sworn in only after they’ve killed their parents with a corkscrew… in their sleep. Oh yeah, and my goals and dreams will also most likely stop at being a Wal-Mart greeter. Your move lady, your move…”
Then Brent formed an alliance with the kids and suggested that I find a parking place so we could stop and take a look around.
I was outnumbered.
We unfortunately found a place to park after passing the woman with a small flat white box sticking out of her cart that most likely had 39,000 parts for her to assemble her very own Swedish wine rack. We saw her down at least 3 different aisles. She clearly had no fucking clue where her car was, and I had sympathy for her because that’s something I do regularly. When I say regularly, what I really mean is every time I leave the house.
I always tell Brent that it’s most likely early symptom for Alzheimer's, and some day he will wish he hadn’t made fun of me so much when I’m dead, but then he points out that “early symptoms” don’t typically hang around for over 20 yrs. Whatever.
Anyway, as I parked the car I had this sense of dread. All I wanted to do was go home because I knew this was going to be a huge pain in my ass. The parking lot was packed! I felt as though I was at Disneyland, but without all of the promise of magical fun and wonder.
I looked up at the sky and it looked like rain would fall down any minute. I tried one last resort to get myself out of this mess by mentioning to Taylor that it looked like there were tornado clouds up above, and that we should probably not be out with the threat of dangerous storms looming. FYI, she has a weather phobia thing.
She took a look at one of her 50 weather apps on her iphone as she kept walking toward the entrance, and then proceeded to announce the percentage of rain and relative humidity, and how she didn’t fear any tornados because the humidity was too low, etc etc.
In other words, we were still going to IKEA. Shit.
As we entered the building, it was just as I figured it would be. A cluster fuck. We had no idea which way to go, and all the signs were in Swedish just in case all of the Swedish people visiting TEXAS felt like shopping there. Yes, there was English on the signs as well, but in much smaller font, and I’m old so I couldn’t see it.
Not only that, but this place was like a maze. We were in there 10 minutes before we even realized there were arrows on the floor, that I can only assume we were supposed to follow.
We stayed on the first floor to browse the home goods, if you actually want to call it that. I think it was all just a bunch of shit stacked everywhere. I spotted some pillows up ahead and I was happy about that because I’m in dire need of a new pillow. Unfortunately IKEA only stocks pillows that look as though they are 30 yrs old and have the thickness of a fucking maxi-pad from the dollar store. Not even a name brand maxi-pad, mind you.
At this point I’m pissed. There are people everywhere invading my personal space, it reeks of B.O. and their pillows aren’t worth shit! I told Brent to turn it the fuck around. I made it 7 minutes. I’m out.
As we were walking back to the entrance, the kids spotted an elevator that went up to the second floor that was sure to have better merchandise. I was about to say no, but then I remembered the badass white kid gang, and how much I didn’t want to die with a corkscrew stuck in my forehead, so I took in a deep breath and motioned to the goddamed elevator.
The elevator smelled like dirty feet and Swedish meatballs. Probably because there was a cafeteria on the second floor. Suddenly I was surrounded by cheap particle board furniture. A sea of it. Naturally Taylor loved it all, and wants to redecorate her room immediately.
I managed to last about 10 minutes on the top floor before I encouraged everyone that it was in their best interest if we went home before Mommy lost her shit. Badass white kid corkscrew killer gang be damned!
Needless to say, that was my first and last time at IKEA. I honestly would rather take a naked bubble bath with my Grandfather while watching amputee porn, than ever go there again.