12/13/2009 Your trip to Ikea
You've just moved to a new home, and finally have a free weekend day to head to the golden gates of the local Ikea. This is no small task, considering that the local Ikea is, in fact, not truly local. You join the glob of traffic heading into and out of the city, oozing inch by inch down 90/94 and onto 290.
You've lived in Chicago for 3 1/2 years now, and can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that you've ventured into the suburbs. And 4 of those 5 trips have involved Ikea. You are armed with a list. And you know you will be spending a lot of money. Having this awareness brings you comfort. Over an hour later, you round the bend and are blinded by a blue and yellow aura emanating from the tall imposing building ahead. Angelic music fills the car. And before you know it, you are weaving your cart through the perfected floor plans and towering displays.
Halfway through, you stop off at the cafeteria where you each get the $1 meatball meal with a dollop of lingonberry jam on the side. As you are halfway through your meal you reach for your chapstick and realize that you acted a dolt and returned it to your work bag the night before instead of your purse. You are stuck in the bowels of Ikea without chapstick. As an individual who depends on chapstick as much as water, it does create quite a challenge. You occasionally reach for your lipstick in hopes of it providing some moisturizing relief to your parched lips. You begin to hope that you aren't turning yourself into Bozo the clown with your frequent applications.
In fact, the absence of chapstick is the only dose of reality you have in the middle of Ikea. You realize that Ikea is the suburban Chicago area's answer to the Vegas strip. Inside Ikea, there is no time. Your mind plays tricks on you. You drove there in a Suburban, right? A Uhaul? By the time you reach the rugs, you and your husband glance at each other. It is time to grab a second cart. Now both of you are winding toward the registers. The lines are long. You make the mistake of switching out of one line and into another, only to realize that this new line is actually longer than the one you were in. A trick of the eye. "Damnit! " You exclaim to your husband, who reminds you that you are in no rush.
Standing there, each of you with your own cart, you survey your collection. "$350? " one of you asks. "Hmmm. . .no, I'd say $425, " replies the other. You're both wrong. $474 is what blazes bright on the LCD screen. You're so harried at that moment, you don't even pause to consider the total. Ikea has no plastic bags or individuals at the check out to assist with the loading of your cart. As you move to the front of the line, a mad dash commences as you quickly unload the contents of your cart onto the conveyor belt, then dash to the other end of the register to collect the items and quickly throw them back into the cart. The longer this takes, the more the items begin to pile up, threatening to fall off the table. There is pressure from the people in line behind you, closing in. While the cart had been carefully filled throughout the trip, now you find yourself haphazardly chucking your goods back in.
The rush of your departure from Ikea is far from over. Ikea does not allow you to push your carts out to the parking lot to your car. Rather, they have a pick up bay for cars. You stand in the cold as your husband runs for the car, guarding the two carts that are awkwardly brimming over with rugs and baskets and a large mirror. In front of you, a mother and her middle school-aged daughter are loading their car. The back hatch is popped up and they are trying to pull down the seatbacks to allow them space to load the three boxes propped alongside the car. "I thought you said you knew how to do this? " the mother says to her daughter. "I did! " she replies, and starts hitting the back wall of the trunk, letting out a frustrated "Argh! " The mother walks to the front of the car and returns carrying a book. "Okay, this is what we're going to do, " she says, opening the book. "OH MY GOD! " yells the daughter in exasperation as she realizes that her mother is looking through the car manual.
At one point the daughter looks at you, and your gaze communicates your mutual helplessness in the situation. By this time your husband is jogging over to take one of the carts down to the car, which he's backed into a space a few cars away. You give the girl a sympathetic last glance and push away the beast on wheels. The CRV appears smaller than you remember as you begin heaving your purchases into the backseat. And just like that, you are pulling away. It is now dark out as you merge back on the expressway for the hour long trip home. Thus ends your trip to Ikea.
