MPW and I went to IKEA the other night in search of a few little pick-me-ups for our place. Hanging up in our windows until now have been vertical blinds that I think were original to the building and were reminiscent of 80’s office decor. You know, the kind that has since been proven to have an abnormally high lead content and removed from office spaces everywhere in the 1990’s. Well, after living here for two years MPW and I decided it was time for a change, so we headed to where any couple on a budget can go and find cute, gender neutral things at affordable prices.
Let’s be honest: the best thing about IKEA is the 50 cent hot dogs and $1 ice cream. After our trip I felt we deserved it, so we entered the very long line and proceeded to inch slowly towards the cashier. The problem was, there was some lady who wanted a bag because she realized she couldn’t carry her hot dog, fruit cup and sparkling wine as well as the 10 individually wrapped glass bowls and glasses she had just purchased. She wanted the bag, folks, but she didn’t want to have to pay for it. For the 50 cent bag! Perhaps she blew her wad on the discount dog, I don’t know, but for whatever reason this woman spent 10 minutes at the cash and would not leave or move to the side.
Like in every horror movie where zombies are involved, the masses kept on coming. There were 50 cent hot dogs to be had, for cryin’ out loud! 50. Cent. Hot. Dogs. Although there was nowhere to go, in the 10 minutes that lady stood there, the line kept creeping forward, faces turned upward to the luminous sign ahead. “Do I want one hot dog or two?” I pondered as the little girl behind me became the little girl beside me, and then the little girl in front of me. People continued to squish up out of the queue, trying to place their order with the IKEA employee who looked like she wanted to bury her head behind the counter to protect her delicious yummy brains head.
Since there was nothing to do but wait and debate the one hot dog or two issue, I wasn’t too surprised when a dispute broke out behind me. “You need to go to a therapist for that,” a man’s voice boomed. I couldn’t help but think that he was having quite the heavy conversation with his friend for being in an IKEA line. Then I realized he didn’t know the person he was speaking to. The altercation escalated when the man behind him didn’t back up (as if he could). “Do you understand English? Do you know what a psychiatrist is? You need one!” The first man shrieked as he grabbed his kid’s shoulder and pressed hard. “You need to back up! Back up! Don’t get so close to me again!” By now he was practically shouting in the other man’s face. To give the second guy credit; he didn’t respond, didn’t get mad or embarrassed, he just tried his hardest to back up out of that guy’s face, which was quite the feat considering how we were standing three-a-breast in a two-a-breast queue.
You know, I get it. I get it. I really do. You come out to IKEA for what should be a 30 minute trip, an hour tops, but you forget what a time suck IKEA can be and stumble out 3 hours later with a bunch of cheap sh*t that costs you more than you thought you would be paying. You’ve waited in the world’s longest check-out queue only to find out that some lanes only take cash, some only take credit cards, and some take both and there are at least two people ahead of you who can’t figure out which is which so they let some people go ahead, leave the line, and re-enter the line (you don’t mind, right? I mean they were here before you). You finally pay and are trying to juggle all of your purchases that were supposed to be affordable, but ended up costing you more than your car payment for the month and all you want is a G.D. 50 CENT DOG for your kid who should have been in bed AN HOUR AGO and this WACKADOODLE is pushing up on ya like they’re a video ho and you’re paying their rent. You would like to be rational at this point and calmly discuss proper line etiquette and personal space, but you’re pretty sure your brain checked out 30 minutes ago and even more sure the guy in front of you has been muttering “braaaains” under his breath for at least 5 minutes.
However, yelling at someone with your kid there because you want a 50 cent hot dog is really lame and embarrassing for everyone who is not you. So chill, man. We’re all getting felt up together and it will be over soon, so close your eyes and take it like a man. There’s a 50 cent hot dog in it for you, and if you’re real good, a $1 ice cream too.
That Just Happened!
*this is based on no facts whatsoever, I just thought it made a good title for this post. Disney could, and probably does, have the best hot dogs.
