How the Swedes Kill Kittens

Rising like a demonic cube out of the wastelands of Bloomington, as if the Highway 77 commuters were wrought with consumer drought, stands IKEA, a blue behemoth of a furniture store. This isn't a review. This is about the evil clutches IKEA holds over me, and just how genius they are at wrapping an otherwise clueless consumer like myself, a young adult who could give two shits about home furnishing, turning them into an interior designing whore frothing at the mouth at the sight of every product within its padded walls.

I attribute IKEA to be not unlike the Cube of "Cube". The Cube is a prison wrought with booby traps. It is a Rubiks Cube, with a set of mathematical probabilities etched into the framework, making it so that the prisoners who mysteriously find themselves inside need to delve into their high school algebra knowledge in order to escape unscathed.



IKEA has a designated pathway. Go through the showroom, become inspired, see their products in action, feel jealous, see everyone around you succumbing to the Scandinavian greed devil, shake fervently, cry out in defeat, write down the product number of their weakness, proceed to buy the product in a huge warehouse downstairs, the pit of furniture Hell.

Today, I didn't come to IKEA with the intention of buying anything. I was helping my new roommate Emily pick up an As-is dresser. As we climbed the escalator, I didn't think anything would happen to me. Upon turning the corner, Emily went into a pre-made showroom. I followed, looking at all the products. That's when I felt the devil inside start to wake.

Opportunities opened. I saw a reading lamp over a bed and I thought, "Hey! That's nice. I wish I had a reading lamp over my bed . . . wait, it's only seven bucks . . . what's this in my pocket . . . a check card? I can . . . where's the lighting department?"

Pillows: "Hey, I have one pillow and a blanket acting as a pillow . . . maybe I can just get one . . ."

Candles: "I like candlelight. The candle holders are so cheap . . ."

Every department started to rain down possibility. I became an interior designer, needing a little bit of everything in each department. It became so consuming that I felt I NEEDED to buy things. My house wouldn't be complete without something from each department.

IKEA also spits you out into a dark parking garage once you're done. It's dark and ominious, it makes you feel guilty. It's like masturbating. It seemed somewhat dirty and pleasurable at the same time. Yeah, sure, why not, right? I'll clean up afterward, it won't be that big of a mess. Here we go . . . oh man, this gets better and better . . . oh, ohhhh, OHHHHHHH!!!! . . . fuck . . . Jesus . . . oh, man, there's shit everywhere . . . ohhhhh, why did I do that? Man, now I got to take a shower and get cleaner from underneath the sink. I hope the roommates don't see me going to the kitchen covered in goo. Why? WHY?!?!?

Apply this to IKEA . . . in the parking garage, you look at your armload of crap and think, "Oh man, why did I do this? Now I have to find a place for this shit. I don't have room . . . Goddammit, where's a towel?"

IKEA: I hate you and love you at the same time.

The Dust Brothers -- "Corporate World"