Yesterday afternoon my wife persuaded me to take her shopping to IKEA. I had just enjoyed a very good lunch with some fellow apostates, so in a moment of expansive good-willed stupidity, I agreed.
I hate IKEA. I've had quite enough of cults in my life, thank you very much. I think IKEA is Sweden's attempt at taking over the world using the fiendish method of turning everyone into braindead zombies by surrounding them with incredibly boring furniture. "IKEA" must be Swedish for "Satan is King".
As usual, IKEA was packed out with cult devotees. We found a parking space somewhere near the Arctic Circle, and joined the throngs flocking to the house of IKEA. After following the little arrows on the floor for half an hour (let's watch how we walk....), we finally found the ugly TV stand that my wife wanted to buy. It had one of those cutesy and stunningly infuriating Swedish names ("Benno"), and the tag said it was available in aisle 14-H.
Off we went to the self-serve shelves. Entering the cathedral of storage, I lucked out and found a spare trolley, and grabbed it. Bad move! Behind me I heard the zombie chant begin: "troll-ey....troll-ey....TROLL-EY!!!".
I looked behind me to see cultists beginning to tail me, coming on like a scene from Night of the Living Dead. Frantically I pushed harder, the trolley wheels perversely sending me in random directions, as if it sensed that here was an unbeliever laying hands upon it. Flailing to the left! and right! with increasingly bloodied fists I managed to lose the crowd and find my wife in aisle 14-H, where we frantically pulled our Benno onto the trolley (how can such crap be so heavy?) and headed toward to the checkouts.
In the line, a young brat attempted to do something obscene to my rear end with a "Torped" candle. I waited until his parents were distracted, and in one smooth motion scooped him up and deposited him in a display crate of "Spilla" table napkins, where I trust the little shit suffocated.
After paying, my wife went off to find a catalogue. I eyed a group of female cultists nervously as they began to lick their lips and stroke their breasts lasciviously while feasting their eyes on my soon to be available troll-ey. As soon as my wife returned, we sprinted for it. I pounded back to the car, and performed a Starsky and Hutch 180 degree skid before throwing Benno into the trunk and leaving blue smoke as we escaped.
And now it sits here. Benno. With a "Yacht" swivelly thing to rotate the TV. Already my brain begins to soften, and I hear the soft call of IKEA. Perhaps just one more "Billy" bookcase, then.
I should stop going to IKEA I know. But truly, to whom else would I go?
Expatbrit