IKEA Is Not For MEA

   IKEA

     Man, that’s a big store. 

     We don't have one in the town I live in, so we stopped on our way to the slap-dap-happiest place on earth.

     "You can eat there," I've been told. "And it's cheap!"

     Well, cheap is my middle name, only I spell it E-d-w-a-r-d.

     IKEA has gooey chocolate cake for $1.49. I didn't have any. While it was as inexpensive as promised, it was more like undercooked chocolate cake. Besides, while my heart might say yes to chocolate, my jeans say, "Have a salad instead." 

     They also have vegetarian meatballs. With peas, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce. They were $3.99. I've never had vegetarian anything, but for that price I’d give them a try.

     Sylt Lingon? 

     I don’t even know what that is. 

     Is it anything like the rock band Baruca Salt? 

     By the end of our shopping excursion I discovered that the most expensive vehicle to operate by far is an IKEA shopping cart. Little things add up, my friend.

     We bought a jar opener. It was also $3.99. Money well spent. The older I get, the tighter companies are putting the lids on their jars. I blame ex-wives. They just want to embarrass their former husbands in front of their new wives. I found it interesting that since the invention of lids for jars, it’s taken mankind over a hundred years to invent a tool for easily twisting them off.

     There was a nice diversity of shoppers. The initial ones I came across didn't seem to understand the concept of backing quickly out of a parking spot someone is waiting for, while the ones I ran into inside the store had the nasty habit of always being in the way. I stopped, not moving, so they could decide which side of the aisle they wanted to be in, but somehow they'd get in my way even more.

  

     A lot of these shoppers have dogs with them. That's a pet peeve of mine. You’re a grown man. You really can’t go shopping without your poodle? And keep that filthy mutt away from my vegetarian meatballs while you’re at it. 

     In the doormat section, some thoughtful shopper left his trash from the cafeteria on a stack of mats. No matter where I go, people disappoint me. 

      I bet he had a dog. 

     I have one complaint about the furniture IKEA sells. The ones you sit on are too low to the ground. I’m taller than the average bear, but short enough that the NBA would laugh me off the basketball court, still I need a chair that, after I've sat in it, my knees aren't higher than my ears. 

     To help you negotiate your way around the store there are helpful arrows on the floor made of light indicating the direction you should go to spend more money in. Interestingly enough, none of the arrows point you in the direction of an exit. In fact, I don't think IKEA has any exits other than the ones at the front of the building you initially walk in through. Once you enter, you’re just expected to keep circling the store, piling more and more items into your cart. 

     Nice scam. 

     I bet they stolen the idea from the casinos in Las Vegas. I have a cousin who went into Caesar's Palace and I never saw him again.

     We came upon the checkouts by accident. As it turns out when you enter the store you immediately take an escalator to a second story, and, by the time you’re done with your Appalachian hike, you’re on the bottom floor without having taken any stairs or another escalator.  As you exit the checkouts they have another mini-cafeteria where you can eat some more of those vegetarian meatballs before you leave. 

     Mmm... $3.99.

     By that time, I had to go to the bathroom. Now that I think about it, I didn’t see one bathroom the whole time I was there. I

asked the employee hovering around the checkout area making sure no masochists (because you have to be a masochist to want to assemble their furniture) were stealing anything. He didn’t seem too happy to give me directions because he knew my next stop would be outside where I couldn't spend any more money. 

     I don't have these kind of problems getting an employee to help me at Lowe's. There I just walk directly to the chainsaw section and fire one up. Someone always shows up in seconds to help me.

     I walked over to the bathrooms. Surprisingly one was for males and one was for females. Somehow I thought, like Ben & Jerry, they'd be more progressive. The entrance to the men's bathroom was blocked by a cart full of cleaning supplies. 

     “Is the bathroom closed?” I asked the guy next to it. He was holding a wet plunger in his hand.

     “Yes,” he told me.

     He didn’t seem too happy either.