A Trip to Ikea and TMI

Well, Ikea continues to provide endless fodder for bloggers like me. I was there a few Sundays ago with my friend Velvet to pick out and pick up some kitchen cabinets. The same cabinets that are in this post. I didn't want to tell the story without permission, but now that I have it, here we go. First of all, I hate IKEA. Every weekend there are thousands of people there and every single one of them is in my way. Every time.

Apparently I have no taste when it comes to kitchen colors, just like my choice in turtlenecks: "you have black appliances, oak floors and you want to order white cabinets? If you do, I will hurt you." With that, it was decided that I needed help picking out cabinets, and the person who would help me as she mocked me decided on the time and place.

It was good that I brought her because, it turns out, you need estrogen to differentiate between different shades of color since almost everything there looked the same to me: dark wood or light wood. But apparently, there's wood and then there's wood.

Velvet: "No, your floors are wood with brown and those cabinets are wood with yellow in them. Can't you see that?"

Ninja: Ummm, yeah, I see it. There's some yellow in there, right next to that umm, other color.

So we order the cabinets and pay for the ones that were in stock and go to the pickup place. It took longer than humanly possible, unless you take into account the incompetence of college kids working part time to earn money for drugs. After every 30 minutes or so we would ask where the cabinets were and the customer service monkey would reflexively spit out "they'll be out in half an hour." And Velvet would respond "that's what you said half an hour ago." Then her face changed and she said "that's it, I'm going into bitch mode now." Five minutes later the cabinets were in my NLAAV and were off.

Loading it up was a pain in the ass so she called her current beau to meet us so he can help with the unloading. We went to Hard Times for some greasy bar food and to meet the new free labor. I thought asking someone to move furniture was a big deal and I didn't think he'd show up, but on the way there she brags about how she is the perfect girlfriend so he can't possibly refuse to help her with something unreasonable like offloading heavy cabinets in exchange for nothing except a cheeseburger.

Ninja: What makes you such an awesome girlfriend?

Velvet: Well, for instance, last week I [blanked] his [blank] while we were [blanking]. Then I [blaannnnnnnnnnnnk].

Ninja: [Stunned silence]

Velvet: Yeah, THAT'S why you should never walk barefoot in the dressing room at an outlet mall.

Ninja: Wow…you really are an awesome girlfriend. I mean that's just…well…wow. I mean it's completely disgusting, but still.

So dinner was…enlightening.

I was off on Monday and Velvet suggested that I go with her to pick out a countertop from a place in Maryland because, she said, "I know a guy." Since I'm from NYC, I know that when someone tells you they know a guy, it's a good thing. It means that either they can get you a really good price on something, or can have someone killed for you. I'll show you what I mean:

Vinny: Gina sez she's pregnant and the baby is probably mine cuz I'm one of the only guys she made it with without a condom. I need an engagement ring but it costs a lot of money.

Joey: fuggedaboutit…I know a guy.

Or, in a different context:

Guido: I think that Fat Joe is gonna' rat me out to the Feds about that thing with the guy from Joi-zee who had that 'accident' and ended up in the meat grinder. What am I gonna' do about that friggin' snitch?

Big Tony: fuggedaboutit, I know a guy.

I tried to meet her at the place but when I got in my car, the Ninja Lite Armoured Assault Vehicle wouldn't start. Dead battery! Some moron left the headlights on the night before. I'm not going to point fingers, especially since I was the one who was driving and I was the last one to leave the car. But if the NLAAV can't start, then its combat readiness is greatly diminished. I'm gonna convene a special bipartisan commission to investigate what happened. It's gonna be like the 9/11 commission except that I'll be the only person on it and my findings will be unpublished and classified.

I should add that the last time this happened, about 6 months ago, I bought a battery recharger which you are supposed to plug in overnight and leave in your car in case your battery dies. Soooo…I went to the basement and found the re-charger (still in the box) and plugged it in.


Over my numerous trips to IKEA I have learned some things about IKEA, myself, and the universe:

1. Everything is cheap in IKEA, even the hot dogs;
2. If someone is selling you hot dogs for fifty cents, you will probably regret eating it later;
3. society has a lowest common denominator, and you see them in retail;
4. college kids are so stupid that I fear for the future of our once-great nation "mom, I luuuuuuuv this place, everything in here is so...european!";
5. there is something very zen about assembling IKEA furniture;
6. if eating one fifty cent hot dog is bad, then eating four of them is even worse.