The other day, Molly and I went to IKEA to pick up new tables, new shelves, and Swedish Fish, in preparation for our big move! No, the store's not going anywhere, but we are in the process of what some would call a "redesign." And by "some" I mean Claudette. And by "Claudette" I mean: Please don't tell Claudette we moved stuff!
I asked Martin if I could grab some orange cones and construction tape, to which he said, "You are paid to work here." Good one, Martin! They didn't have 'em anyway. But here are a few snapshots from our trip to the set of 500 Days of Summer.
The first thing I noticed that took time was that IKEA sells books, too! Albeit in Swedish, with an unsettling bevy of books by Philip Roth, suggesting either a hilarious, if unfortunate, overestimate of U.S. consumers' tastes in fiction or the fact that IKEA's "library" was mostly hollowed out jewel boxes with staid, bookish covers. Vikten Av Vatten, for instance, isn't even the name of a book but rather a film starring Sean Penn, which loosely translated in English means Fast Times at Ridgemont High. "Order for the store?" I texted Martin. I was kidding!
Next up, I stopped by kitchens to snap a photo of this funny, useless CD holder to send to Martin, with the subject line: "For the Audio Section? HA!" "I get charged for these," he said. "Ask Molly to grab three of the 29 1/2x59's and one 15x32." "You got it! ;)" I replied. "Seriously," said Martin. "Stop texting me pictures of IKEA. Be back by 4:30, please." "Done and done," I wrote back, along with instructions on what to do if the emoticon stops blinking.
Molly, meanwhile, was yelling at me to get back to work; that this wasn't a joke; she could use some help lifting "the big stuff," etc. Granted, the picture to your left is a scene from 500 Days of Summer, but if I didn't know any better I'd swear it was lifted straight from the security cameras. After all, Molly sings and has brown hair and I tend to act like I don't know what's going on in the face of disapproval. Oh, and then I saw this drawer and cupboard set that opens by itself, so you never have to worry about it!
After a few hours of
pretending to measure appliances and making sure nobody wanted
anything from the cafeteria--"They've got meatballs you can microwave!" I
kept on telling Martin, but I don't think he believed me. "Duty Free!" I
said, but nothing--it was time to get a move on. Again, not a move, but
"redesign." (Not a word until I think of a way to explain to Claudette this was Kathy's idea.)
Molly was practically assembling the Vika Furuskog by the time she got into the car, ignited by the prospect of refurbishing our formerly halved space into an airy, open paradise for book lovers, with more room for more books; the WOB (Wall of Books) now on display in the front window; Joe air drumming to The Fall with intermittent bursts of song for all to see and feel uncertain about. "Is he talking to me?" customers would ask, and that was back when all you had to go on was the feeling that someone was making popping sounds and fixatedly staring off in one direction, without proof! At least, I imagine that's what was running through Molly's mind as she hurriedly left the store without me, driving all the way to 5 before she realized I was almost certainly still trying to talk to the cafeteria lady into a "buy one, get a trundle bed" deal.
After a few hours of
pretending to measure appliances and making sure nobody wanted
anything from the cafeteria--"They've got meatballs you can microwave!" I
kept on telling Martin, but I don't think he believed me. "Duty Free!" I
said, but nothing--it was time to get a move on. Again, not a move, but
"redesign." (Not a word until I think of a way to explain to Claudette this was Kathy's idea.) Molly was practically assembling the Vika Furuskog by the time she got into the car, ignited by the prospect of refurbishing our formerly halved space into an airy, open paradise for book lovers, with more room for more books; the WOB (Wall of Books) now on display in the front window; Joe air drumming to The Fall with intermittent bursts of song for all to see and feel uncertain about. "Is he talking to me?" customers would ask, and that was back when all you had to go on was the feeling that someone was making popping sounds and fixatedly staring off in one direction, without proof! At least, I imagine that's what was running through Molly's mind as she hurriedly left the store without me, driving all the way to 5 before she realized I was almost certainly still trying to talk to the cafeteria lady into a "buy one, get a trundle bed" deal.
 |
| Picture in my head of Molly humming "Everyday is a Winding Road," by Sheryl Crow. |
And sure enough, she found me, still in kitchens, where I was busy... pretending to have supper... with these knives... I'm just kidding, it's the same scene from the movie!
And a mere three hours later, with a little bit of hard work that never killed anybody...
Our "new" space was as good as new!
Thanks, IKEA! Surprise, Claudette! Sorry, again, Martin!
(Molly, if it were truly that heavy to carry by yourself, you wouldn't have all that air in your lungs to complain about my unfortunately not being able to help right now.)
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