Never to entertain Mediocrity

Need I say more.

Unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably experienced the DIY Mecca/warehouse that “prides” itself on providing somewhat trendy/modern/design friendly furniture and house wares at reasonable child labor prices.

Shanghai-ikea-flag.poles

Once you arrive at the store you will need to scale, dodge or even trample (this is my preferred method) the hordes of rowdy children running about and being blatantly obnoxious.  (Birth control people….wrap that shizz up)

Thier parents just moseying about, debating over what veneer finish is best for their new particle board investment.

Knowing this, one must prepare oneself before entering the enormous blue box.

A Plan is a necessity.

List-check

Sneaks/good shoes to dodge out of control carts, children/make bee-lines to the checkouts –check

Pen in hand (to mark where items are located/stab crazys-CHECK

So as you can probably tell, if you were to categorize me in the IKEA world.  I would put a check mark in the box right beside “ADVANCED”

I’ve been to all different locations, in all different cities and have mastered the place.

In case you hadn’t heard, I recently signed a lease on a PIMP-TASTIC new A-P-T down in SoHo.  I don’t know how it happened, but admist the POO monsoon that has been going on in my life, there was a sunny day.  God smiled on me in the form of a Craigslist posting and Viola!  A week later, I had dotted the I’s and Crossed the T’s on my new lease with two girls I barely knew in a PRIMO location on Crosby St.  HEAVEN!

So off to Ikea for me.

 Not a big deal thanks to Cait my BF who loaned me here Hyundai Sonata, aka that Black Night.  Bolted out of work and picked up the Night Rider In queens I was off, Rascall Flatts blaring and windows down.

Just about an hour filled with Gridlock, and I arrive.

In I go, to pick up a few shelves for my built in closet that I have decided to reconfigure.

Mind you, I had already made a trip 2 weeks prior, at which they were out of these shelves. But, good ole Ikea had let me know via post card that the shelves were back in stock and ready for me to pick up. 

SO this is TRIP Number 2

I wait on line for about 45 minutes, just to get my little pickup slip.  Finally. 

Make my way to the warehouse area, and I notice something…..it says SELF-SERVE.

WTF!?

You are not fooling me. (just to let you know—Every experience  prior to this,  you got your slip of paper and went over to the cashier, you pay your $$ and then you go over the customer service desk, hand them your paper they bring out the forklift and pick up your stuff of the shelves, place it on a something that resembles a palate jack (that’s warehouse lingo for a flat cart)  you then,  wheel it out to your car and hoist the shizz in.

So things have changed apparently.

I go to the aisle/BIN where this M’fer is located and it hits me.

Wait a G-D Min.  It’s not here.

I spend the next 20 minutes scaling the warehouse shelves where the item is supposed to be located comparing the SKU’s on each of the boxes that are strewn about in no recognizable order.

Finally, I give up and head to find one of the store personnel.

You would have thought I was searching for a damn white whale.  No where to be found. 

Then out of the corner of my eye I see something.

There it is –the hideous blaze yellow polo with a blue left chest logo. BINGO. I am furious and explain my situation, postcard, and paper in hand. 

Him: well you see at the bottom of our paper there, in the fine print….”inventory not gaurnteed”

ME: Yeah I see it.  Do YOU SEE this postcard that says it's here?  That YOU sent to me?  DO YOU see that I was here 2 weeks ago and waited until YOU told me to come back?

“Well  I’m sorry we’re out.  It’s coming in on a truck tomorrow, and if you come in they will surely have it no questions asked.” –He says

UGHHHHH…another trip. YOU have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

So I go home again.  Empty Handed.

Just to be clear this is TRIP NUMS TRES. THREE. 

So after  yesterday, and  after they sent me the postcard and I went back they STILL didn’t have them.  They promised me they would BE HERE TODAY FOR SURE!!!! So with the move in scheduled for Weds (today being Tues when this took place) fingers crossed third times the charm.

it goes like this.

We repeat the process of  bolting out of work, to queens. Rascall Flats blaring, and Gridlock filled ride to home of IKEA, aka Satan’s Lair.

I storm in, my form from yesterday in hand, enter through the exit, jump over the little yellow cable which says aisle closed and head straight for the bin/aisle where my item should be restocked and ready to pickup…(accordingly to Jamal yesterday)

I frantically scan, again comparing the SKU’s to the boxes, but oddly enough the same F’ing hole remains where my item should be.

Blood pressure at an all time high I storm to the manager ( I have abnormally low BP by the way).  Explain my sitch, and he gives me the run around.

I make my way over trying to hide the steam that is pouring at of my ears at this point.

I finally explain my situation and the fact that this is now the THIRD time this has happened. BLAH BLAH BLAH.

So long story short, it’s actually here, (the three dumb shelves that I need) but it’s up on the top shelf of the warehouse and they need the forklift to bring it down.  And they can’t do that during store hours…because that’s unsafe, and someone might get hurt.

Just so we’re clear, they now let just anyone in all parts of the warehouse to scale the shelves and pull down huge boxes often weighing over 80 lbs.  Granted, THAT’S perfectly safe. 

I alert the manager, who is trying to give me his utmost sympathy which I could give 2 effing shits about at this point, that I have a commercial license to drive a forklift (Robertson marketing HOLLLERRR thanks to the old days at the sweat shop) and I’ll get them my damn self.

SO now, he wants me to come back a 4^th time.  Tomorrow. 

At this point I am just tempted to rip this A-holes head right off. But I am blinded by the glare of the fluorescent lights against his shiny bald head.  I fight through the poltergeist-like rays and let this SOB know that my days with IKEA are over.

 No second chances, no I’m sorry’s no nothing. We are through. 

At this point, F*&# those shelves.

I make my way out to the car one final time and don’t even look back. 

It’s over baby.  Foreves.

IKEA----I hope you CHOKE on particle board dust.

Subwayphoto

Interesting turn of events that took place yesterday at approximately 8:30pm EST. On a Ditmars bound N train leaving station.

I’m on my way home, I am standing on the platform just like I’ve done 1 million times before; breathing in the sauna-like hot, thick air, waiting for the ole Trizzzane.

I wait, one comes along GREAT!  NO, packed.  Hell with it, I’ll wait for the next one.

Another 5-10 mins passes, and here comes the 2^nd train, again people wedged in there like crazy.  Again, no thanks, I keep waiting.

Third time’s the charm right?  Here she comes.  Not too bad, but definitely not ideal, I patiently wait for the peeps to get off (because I’m a human being not like these other inconsiderate peons) and I step on.  I notice a bum chillin across the way, (per the usual nothing new here) some average looking peeps, and a few weirdos. So I am ready, I am situated, ready to make the trek to queens, when all of the sudden WHAM!  Just as the bum starts to sing a little tune-

Out of the corner of my eye comes a large fatty elbow!  Right in the CHEST! 

I lose my balance.  “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS PLEASE”

What happens over the next 4 minutes is probably the closest thing I’ve ever come to loosing my life.

I am trying to regain my balance, but I am caught.

Half of my body is pushed outside the train.  (Seriously, one arm one foot/leg from about thigh down)

I have practiced countless release moves courtesy of MR. McKay’s PE classes at Glade Hill Elementary; I tell you that man saved my life this day.

((He inspired me to earn the “presidential fitness award” ALL 8 YEARS! (Which the president of the U.S.  Signs cough, stamps))

 I am fairly athletic and am pretty damn scrappy for my size if I do say so myself.

So I grab the fifthly doors which are trying split my body right in two at this point like some sort of modified medieval torture.

The doors open long enough for me to get part of my arm in, now from the forearm down is out, and my leg/foot still dangling.  Bam the doors close again, I try to rearrange and get part of my body in, my mind is racing.  What should I do?  Do I try to GET OUT at this point?

I am cursing, and fighting these crazy doors furiously, when they release once more, this time only to clamp down and almost break my sternum in two this time.  Somehow part of my leg frees and now I just have my foot and my forearm and hand/ with bag, caught in the door.

Open sesame!!! BASTARD!  Finally, I free my body with one last “JESSSSSSSSSSSSUUUSS CHRIST!!!!!” 

I take a look around, at the invalids just staring at my once adorable white shirt which is now almost completely black with door marks all over it.

It is stretched out, and barely clinging to my sweaty body.  I look down a bit embarrassed, but more enraged!

Shirt is in tact (mostly)-CHECK

All body parts present and accounted for-CHECK

All personal Belongings-CHECK

In a huff I manage to secure a seat, and drop my bag which is completely demolished, torn also covered in yucky subway blackness. I whip out the ole RED Blackberry Pearl and begin to act occupied after staring down every person in the subway car.  I do it diligently, one by one, eyeing them.  They REFUSE to make eye-contact but I know they feel my burning retinas piercing their skulls.  F’ing inconsiderate bastards. 

I finally try to calm down and relax. 

My stop arrives and I make my way to the exit.

WHOOOAAA asshole!!!! JESUS, watch where you are going!!!!

This guy who is not paying attention and walking briskly almost knocks me into the tracks.

He then realizes what just happened, and starts to apologize profusely.  (Thank god he has at least ONE decent bone in his body)

What a day.

The one thing I managed to escape that day was the torrential downpour that took place approximately 5 minutes after walking through our humble abode in Queens. 

I think that a drenched, dirty, beaten girl would probably have been the very last straw.  I was grateful to escape at least that for the day.

What are three things you want to learn, and three things you can teach others to do? 
Submitted by bookishbiker.

TO LEARN:

1.  Speak French fluently-i know what you're thinking, been there tried that, but im serious one of these days I'm going to dive head first

2.  To juggle-i've tried but damnit i just suck

3.  Tame Lions-no explanation necessary.

To TEACH: aka things I am awesome at.

1. Procrastination

2.  Pulling my hair back with a pencil, (for some reason people really find this to be amazing)

3.  Wild Mushroom Risotto w/ scallops-ask anyone, they will tell you.

Yes, it is official I have joined.  I know what you’re thinking.  Yes I know I do not consider myself “sensitive” or one of those touchy feely types (Carly can definitely vouch on this one).  Nor am I one that considers myself so artsy, or entrenched into anything (hobby or otherwise) that I can justify ranting about it for longer than a bitter, dry, and probably foul sentence or two muttered under my breath in passing at the water cooler.   

Let’s face it, the reason I’m on here is simple, plain and to the point.

I am number one. Kubler sister, that is.  I’m tired of getting on here day after day and being out done by one or the other. 

I am interesting.  Well, not really but hell, if Cait can rant about her damn sub par guacamole for a paragraph o two, I need to let the world know that mine is something to strive for. 

So please, be kind, be gentle, it’s my first time.  (Some of you are laughing, stop it.)