It seems she ran aground.
Crazy-ass weekend. It all started earlier this week when I recieved my semi-usual Ikea VIP list email reminding me that the 50% sale and no-tax weekend were fast approaching. It's tough to turn town an excuse to go to Ikea to spend a few hours looking at cheap furniture. So I decided, helped by the offer of ultra-cheap breakfast at the upstairs cafe, to hit the sale on Saturday to see if I could pick up a few cheap dishes, or a set of pos and pans to make up for the horribly blackened set I currently have (blame my tendency to overcook popcorn). Anyway, because breakfast is served early, I show up around 9:30am, and already there's a line out the door. This is remarkable because, first, only the restaurant is open that early. Second, there's a goodly amount of real estate you have to traverse before you get to the restaurant from the front door, meaning that the line was incredibly long. I suppose the Ikea VIP list is not as VI as I thought it was. Anyway, after waiting in line for, like, a half-hour, I finally get my eggs, bacon, pancakes, and Swedish coffee. I sit by a window to observe the ant-farm parking lot below me rapidly fill with insane shoppers coming for the same reason I was. Whew, I thought to meself, glad I got here before everybody and Elton John decided to show up.
It was at that moment that I realized I had forgotten insulin at home, after having eaten a gigantic breakfast.
What to do? I could go home, take a shot, come back. But then I'd have to deal with the insanity in the parking lot. I could go home, take a shot, not come back. Which means no pots and pans for me. I could stay, not take a shot. Which means a very uncomfortable feeling and twenty trips to the bathroom. And no lunch at the Ikea cafe. I went for option A. Drove home, took shot, came back, only to find myself in the middle of a traffic nightmare Lex Luthor couldn't have dreamed up in his wildest and most diabolical moment. After, oh, fifteen minutes spent trying to find a parking spot in what must have been a 2000+ space lot, I finally get back to Ikea to do a little shopping.
This is a bit of a weakness I have. It happens all the time. I see a grand purchase I could make. You know, a computer or something. I fret about it. I say, "do I really need this?" "Can I really afford this?" I do this for a few days and then finally end up spending the money, usually some ungodly amount I can't afford. See my February archives for my fretting over computers. Anyway, I was walking through the showroom and there it was. A bed. A pretty nice bed. A bed for only $139. A bed that would nicely replace my current 15-year-old futon. Then I realize, of course, I'd have to buy a mattress. Mattresses ran, oh, $199. So the grand illusion would come to something like $338, without tax if I bought it this weekend.
This realization threw me into angst. "Do I really need a new bed?" "Can I really afford a new bed?" These things were running around in my head as I meandered, dazed, through the rest of the store. (Which, by the way, is relatively pleasant, given that Ikea has a pretty good soundtrack, including "One of Our Submarines" by Thomas Dolby and some classic Pat Benetar.)
I went home that night with a metal frame too small for the picture I wanted to hang and ten AA batteries for $1.99. I flipped on the TV to have some background noise while I thought about the possibility of a new bed. The Lawrence Welk show came on PBS, which I watched, slightly aghast, for about 15 minutes. I had never seen anyone attempt to make the accordion look sexy before, but I swear to you, during the solo, this accordion dude winked into the audience. After that came some sort of skit about an Italian grocery store owner attempting to marry off his daughter. His failure to this point was accounted for by the high cost of weddings ("but a man-a cannot afford-a to-a have a wedding-a, 's too 'spensive-a!"). His solution was to cut his grocery costs in half for eligable bachelors, enabling them to marry his daughter in financial security. A song followed. I don't know if the plan was successful, but it was looking good: the initially skeptical bachelor was singing and dancing by the time I turned off the TV.
To buy a bed meant returning to Ikea the following day to take advantage of the no-tax. I didn't want to get there super early, so I showed up around 3-ish. But this was a mistake. I thought the traffic was bad the day before. Oh no. We're talking a Lex Luthor meets Darth Vader meets The Joker meets Professor Moriarty frightmare. It took me a half-hour to move 1/8th of a mile into the parking lot. Took me as long to find a parking spot once I was in. It was crazy. Anyway, figuring that I couldn't brave this hell for nothing, I applied for an Ikea credit card and bought a dang bed, mattress, pillows, pillowcases, and a comforter. Tied the dang things to my car and drove home in time to put it together (during which I lost my rag nearly eight times) and watch the West Wing. To be quite honest, the whole thing turned out to be a fantastic deal, even without the no-tax thing, meaning I think I did the right thing overall.
Which raises the question: how many Ikea managers were able to marry off their daughters this weekend?
It was at that moment that I realized I had forgotten insulin at home, after having eaten a gigantic breakfast.
What to do? I could go home, take a shot, come back. But then I'd have to deal with the insanity in the parking lot. I could go home, take a shot, not come back. Which means no pots and pans for me. I could stay, not take a shot. Which means a very uncomfortable feeling and twenty trips to the bathroom. And no lunch at the Ikea cafe. I went for option A. Drove home, took shot, came back, only to find myself in the middle of a traffic nightmare Lex Luthor couldn't have dreamed up in his wildest and most diabolical moment. After, oh, fifteen minutes spent trying to find a parking spot in what must have been a 2000+ space lot, I finally get back to Ikea to do a little shopping.
This is a bit of a weakness I have. It happens all the time. I see a grand purchase I could make. You know, a computer or something. I fret about it. I say, "do I really need this?" "Can I really afford this?" I do this for a few days and then finally end up spending the money, usually some ungodly amount I can't afford. See my February archives for my fretting over computers. Anyway, I was walking through the showroom and there it was. A bed. A pretty nice bed. A bed for only $139. A bed that would nicely replace my current 15-year-old futon. Then I realize, of course, I'd have to buy a mattress. Mattresses ran, oh, $199. So the grand illusion would come to something like $338, without tax if I bought it this weekend.
This realization threw me into angst. "Do I really need a new bed?" "Can I really afford a new bed?" These things were running around in my head as I meandered, dazed, through the rest of the store. (Which, by the way, is relatively pleasant, given that Ikea has a pretty good soundtrack, including "One of Our Submarines" by Thomas Dolby and some classic Pat Benetar.)
I went home that night with a metal frame too small for the picture I wanted to hang and ten AA batteries for $1.99. I flipped on the TV to have some background noise while I thought about the possibility of a new bed. The Lawrence Welk show came on PBS, which I watched, slightly aghast, for about 15 minutes. I had never seen anyone attempt to make the accordion look sexy before, but I swear to you, during the solo, this accordion dude winked into the audience. After that came some sort of skit about an Italian grocery store owner attempting to marry off his daughter. His failure to this point was accounted for by the high cost of weddings ("but a man-a cannot afford-a to-a have a wedding-a, 's too 'spensive-a!"). His solution was to cut his grocery costs in half for eligable bachelors, enabling them to marry his daughter in financial security. A song followed. I don't know if the plan was successful, but it was looking good: the initially skeptical bachelor was singing and dancing by the time I turned off the TV.
To buy a bed meant returning to Ikea the following day to take advantage of the no-tax. I didn't want to get there super early, so I showed up around 3-ish. But this was a mistake. I thought the traffic was bad the day before. Oh no. We're talking a Lex Luthor meets Darth Vader meets The Joker meets Professor Moriarty frightmare. It took me a half-hour to move 1/8th of a mile into the parking lot. Took me as long to find a parking spot once I was in. It was crazy. Anyway, figuring that I couldn't brave this hell for nothing, I applied for an Ikea credit card and bought a dang bed, mattress, pillows, pillowcases, and a comforter. Tied the dang things to my car and drove home in time to put it together (during which I lost my rag nearly eight times) and watch the West Wing. To be quite honest, the whole thing turned out to be a fantastic deal, even without the no-tax thing, meaning I think I did the right thing overall.
Which raises the question: how many Ikea managers were able to marry off their daughters this weekend?
posted by dd0031 at 12:01 PM
2 Comments:
for the very reasons you describe, i refuse to go to IKEA on a weekend. the best time to go is like friday night, just before they close, when no one is there. otherwise, that place is a freakin house of freakin freaks.
Ditto that, mattbarr.
R
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