Six or seven years ago, Ikea was brand new in the Bay Area and everyone swarmed en masse to see what the excitement was about. For a while, the novelty of Ikea and its cheap, DIY furniture created a black hole around the store's location. As in, if you passed within a mile or two of the store and crossed the event horizon, getting sucked inside the maze of displays for hours at a time was inevitable. Shopping there was a serious time commitment. It always brought out the worst in me. The following is an account of a very real event that left me deeply scarred. Ok, not really, but that sounded cool...
I don't do well in crowds. At all. Back in the day, the crowd at Ikea rivaled that of a small third world country. But I had to see what it was all about. So my sister and I decided to check it out one sunny day. After navigating through the strange labyrinth of textiles, furniture and general crap we didn't know we needed until we saw it, we were finally at the front and ready to check out. My sister somehow managed to resist the pull of consumerism, while I *had* to have several tin lanterns and 100 votive candles. She offered to get us cinnamon rolls while I coughed up my money. We agreed to meet in the parking lot at my car. Here's where things get fun...
After waiting for what seemed like a lifetime in line, I headed back to my car expecting to find my sister and the cinnamon rolls of life waiting. But she was nowhere to be found. I climbed in the car and drove around the parking lot, thinking she might have forgotten where the car was parked. I waited at the front of the store for her to emerge with the heavenly cinnamon rolls. I drove around the lot a couple more times. No sister.
Finally, I went back to where my car had been parked to find a *very* angry sister, holding two enormous, yummy-looking icing coated rolls. Arguing ensued. Then, without warning, she took both cinnamon rolls and slammed them icing-side down onto the hood of my car. I was PISSED, mostly because the sugar I so desperately needed to return to human form was now mixed with bird poop and general road filth. But even now, as I type this, I am laughing. Because, really, it was funny.
The point of this trip down memory lane is that I finally cached the bag of 100 votive candles. It only took me six years. I need more. The thought of venturing back to Ikea is not something I care to do. Since the cinnamon roll catastrophe, I haven't been back. I'm sure I can find cheap votive candles somewhere else (Ikea.com, perhaps?), but then what would I have to blog about?
Happy Friday! =)
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