My Real Life Nightmares: Part Four

"Ikea: Human Rat Trap of Terror"

One rainy day, about a year ago I was sitting at home, looking forlornly out the window, thinking to myself in a sad and pathetic voice, "My, my it sure is rainy. And while I'd rather not sit here at home watching the rain fall and thinking to myself in a sad and pathetic voice, I cannot think of a single place to go where I can both purchase affordable curtains AND enjoy delicious macaroni and cheese with the children." And then it hit me, "But of course! Ikea- that wonderland of inexpensive and stylish goods/ Swedish food! Suddenly life makes sense." And without further ado I packed the kids into the jeep and away we went, whistling merrily. And we were never heard from again! The End.

No, I'm just kidding. But we were incredibly naive in our merry whistling. Upon arrival we made our way to the Ikea restaurant. We all got their macaroni and cheese. The children got chocolate milk, and I splurged on the sparkling apple juice because frankly, I like drinking out of fancy, sophisticated, sexy glass bottles and being a hardcore Mormon its about as edgy as I get. In any case the kids were ready to shop before I had finished savoring my edgy apple juice, so I loaded Avery into the impossible-to-manage-shopping cart, held Brook's hand, and tucked that puppy into the deep pocket of my jacket for safe keeping. However, no sooner did our shopping experience begin than things began to go down-hill. Brooklyn wanted in the cart, Avery wanted out. The arrows pointed one way, we seemed to be headed another. And that friggin' impossible-to-manage-shopping cart kept sliding all over the slick floor while my kids loudly demanded we go home. But one does not simply exit Ikea.

We made it past the Tupperware, into the area rugs, through the shower curtains and down the storage isle. It was there I paused to catch my breath. And while I caught it, I noticed a lovely and practical storage box. Well, I couldn't very well leave Ikea empty-handed. I considered its usefulness and reasonable pricing and decidedly put it in the cart. Unfortunately, there were two other less reasonably priced, macaroni-faced items in the cart, one of which playfully expelled my storage box out and onto the floor. I may or may not have said something negative under my breath, I don't really recall. I don't recall because as I leaned over to pick up the box, something heavy, breakable, and very sexy came sliding out of my jacket pocket. And when she broke upon the floor it was a sparkling apple juice explosion of such magnitude a piece of green glass sliced the corner of my left nostril and blood came streaming down my face. Customers stared in alarm. Shocked, I fled the scene of the crime in search of a bathroom. But one does not simply find a bathroom in Ikea.

Back through the shower curtains, into the area rugs, past the Tupperware, I found the lone bathroom. She was in use. I waited, holding a wipe to my still bleeding nose. I waited, and I waited, and I waited. Back through the Tupperware, area rugs, shower curtains, storage, lighting, frames, and house plants. At long last I spied what I thought might be natural light- an exit perhaps? It had to be! I threw the bloody wipe aside and forged full speed ahead, the shopping cart sliding this way and that as my children clung desperately to the sides. Blood trickling down my quivering upper lip as we neared the source of the natural light: A large window overlooking the parking lot and a sign reading "This Way to Flooring". And we were never heard from again! The End.