My fun day at Ikea

Me:   Let’s go to Ikea and look for new beds.
Kids:   Yay.
Neighbor kid who is not actually named hyper and slightly insane Betty:  Me too!  Mom says it’s OK and then afterwards you kids can come spend the night at my house and … [Dr. G starts tuning out]

IKEA:  Welcome.  Enjoy the maze.  Eat a hot dog with goat cheese and fondue.
Kids:  Yay!

IKEA:  Look at my futons.  They are the awesome, and 5 nights a week, it will be like a den for the toxic literary madness of Dr. G. And shit.
Me:  “AND shit?”  WTF, IKEA?  You know the secret code of coolness?  I must buy much here.
IKEA:  Mmmm, garage sale $$$.  Me likey.

Then, more shopping.

Then…

*Ring* (actually, my phone plays the intro to Gimme Shelter)

Realtor Chris:  Uh, Dr. G, the police called me… trying to get to you.  They are at your house.  Something about missing kids.
Me:  WTF?
Realtor Chris:  They called the number on my sign in your yard.
MeWTF?


IKEA:  *whispers* You can’t answer your door when you’re here writhing on my futons.
Me:  *whispers back* Oh, yeah.


Realtor Chris:  They want you to call.  Now.
MeWTF?
Realtor Chris:  Say something else.

Me:  OK kids, we have to go.  I have to make a call and my Verizon works for shit in here.

Kids:  Nooooo!  We want to buy shit.
IKEA:  Nooooo!

Police lady:  Mr. Dinkerson, this is the police.  You may remember us from such escapades as Escape from Mexico and Does EVERYTHING really stay in Vegas.
Me:  Uh, yeah, hi, how have you been?  I was just about to call you, as soon as I followed the Hansel and Gretel trail out of here.  Really.
Police lady:  Uh-huh.  We are looking for a kid named hyper and slightly insane Betty.  She is missing, and may have been abducted by aliens.  Or by you, unless that would be redundant.
Me:  *visions of sheriff Joe and Oz and shit*  Uh, she is right here.
Police lady:  *shotgun clicks* They are waiting for you at your house.
2 seconds later
Police lady:  Change of plans.  They are waiting for you at the kid’s house.  With SWAT.
Me:  *losing my shit*  Uh, OK, I just need to find my way out of the IKEA, and then 10 minutes later I will be there for perp shooting purposes.
IKEA:  Find your way out?  Think again, beotch.  Nobody leaves without at least a $2.99 wine rack and some tea candles.  And our Sheriff Joe special green hot dogs.  You’ll want to get used to those.

Kids:  *freaking out because I said “police are waiting” out loud*
Me:  *ludicrous speed*

Miscommunication=big mistake. (IKEA:  Ya think?)  Mom said “come straight home in 15 minutes.”  Kid heard “be back by 10.  Or whenever.”   Much like my house when I speak.  Anyway, the Mom was now calmed down.  SWAT had gone.

Me(once the firearms were holstered):  Are we cool?
Cop.:  Yes.
Me:  What if you couldn’t call my realtor to call my cell, which the mom should already have?
Mom:  Uh, no, I don’t have your number, because otherwise there wouldn’t be a story here.


Me(internal monologue):  FUCK.  I swear that little shit (Betty) called me on my cell a few times.  Where is my downloaded Verizon call log spreadsheet when I need it?


Cop: We would just Amber Alert your ass.  Probably with a “shoot to maim” footer.
MeSweet.  *lies*

Me:  Here is my cell number for next time. [Again   RAAAR!!!]…

Betty:  Yay!  let’ go back out and shop and eat at Hooters and then have a sleep over and …


Me(internal monologue):  …Not that we will ever see you again except to get the bike out of my garage, since this is our last weekend here and the whole “manhunt with bloodhounds and helicopters if you don’t pick up” thing pretty much soured me on hanging out with some kid who is about to have a complete meltdown.


Me:  I think we are just going to call it a night.
Betty:  *complete meltdown*

And then, Hooters for crappy food served indifferently.  But with hearts and “I love you and will be your concubine if you tip me well” lies on the bill.  Which I totally fall for every time.  Except this one (or any other time since that beatdown by the bouncer in 1989).


About garage sales:  I did that yesterday, too.  What a great way to get rid of stuff.  Not because you get anything close to fair market value for your shit.  You won’t.  The cool part is that the stuff people don’t want to buy, they will just steal when you are not looking.  But only what is not nailed down.

Fuckers.  “Take the sheets, too,” does not mean the Sponge Bob pillow you are hiding underneath.  And $5 for those $500 suits that don’t fit anymore does not include the silk braces you have shoved into a balloon and swallowed.

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