Thursday, 4 February 2010

Furniture Rage

No place on earth can make me sad, angry, frustrated, and depressed all at the same time.  No place but Ikea.  I keep telling myself that I'm never going back there.  I try and convince myself its not worth trying to find a parking spot, wade through the crowds of yuppie hipsters, journey through the maze of pressboard, Swedish SHITE, to wait in line for half an hour amongst those perpetually whining fucknuts, just to end up twisting my back loading that shite into my car,all to save a few bucks on a piece of junk that's going to swell up with moisture or start peeling its faux wood sticker finish within the first six months.

But there I was.  Back again.  Tempted by the low, low prices and the illusion that I'm a handy individual because I can swing an allen key.  Fuck me.  But this time was different.  I never gave in.  All the stuff in there is just a little off.  I'm sure if I had some sense of style I'd be able to pick something out that would be a cohesive addition to the clap trap of random furniture I've so far collected in my life.  But everything I looked at just seemed to bother me.  So I carried on through the maze and bypassed the fucknut parade at the cashiers and escaped back to my car.

But now what?  I'd driven an hour to get some friggin furniture and I wasn't going home without some.  There was a Sears Home store across the parking lot from Ikea so I thought I'd make a quick purchase of some quality furniture and be done with it.  Always a little daunting going into a store with an empty parking lot in front of it.  But I was determined to make my anti-Ikea statement so in I went.

I'd found a piece that was a little fancier than I would have liked but was looking like the only option.  One of the 5 salesmen that was hungrily gawking at the one customer in the store (me) finally broke free from the pack and approached me.  We chit chatted about the piece for a bit and I mentioned that I wasn't crazy about the colour.  Then she said "Well let me get you a brochure on the series and you can go over it with your wife".

Fuck you, you presumptuous bitch.   Like I'm some errand boy that has to go home and check things out with my mythical little woman before handing over a credit card.  I was piqued.  But whatever.  Just give me the info.  She came back with a pamphlet and a super-duper-for-me-only price.  And just to make me feel extra special she says "Well look over it with your significant other and we'll see you at the sale tomorrow".

Fuck you twice.  Not only am I still not capable of making decisions on my own but somehow I've been downgraded from a potentially married but ball-less individual to someone who is in a questionable relationship with some significant "other".  That "other" being a possible man, woman, or farm animal.  Rage.

A horrible, horrible purchasing trip.  I drove the hour home and fell to my knees and thanked whatever god there is that I now live in a place where the LCBO is open past 6:00 pm.

Bottoms up.


  1. Dude, do you not remember my horror of a Sears story regarding my home furniture? RUN, FAR AND FAST.

  2. Ha ha ha ha! Thanks for the laugh.