Surviving our first earthquake...

It all started with buying a drum set. Back in Baltimore, the fact that our house shared walls with two different neighbors wasn’t the issue. Even though we didn’t appreciate our loud neighbors all that much (they were particularly fond of yelling at their one-and-a-half year old and his older two-and-a-half year old brother to “shut the #?^& up before I #@&% you up,” or an occasional, more modest rendition being to “get the $%&# in here before I #*%# you up”), we were considerate enough to make an arrangement with our buddy Bryan (HE-EY!) to set up the kit in is basement at the State Park. Underground, in the middle of the woods, we were more likely to entertain the deer and woodland critters instead of our charming friends next door. Together, the three of us formed a band, “The Wildlife Animals,” which was destined for fame (and getting “all the hot chicks” as Bryan would say) with our hit single, really the only song we ever even worked on, “Mama told me to keep my panties on,” written by Jess on an envelope during our very first rehearsal. Rehearsing once every month or so we spent more time enjoying our own company and that of a bottle or two of wine than playing music. We ODed on the wine occasionally, but it kept the spirit alive, and we rocked. So we decided to start touring the Country (hence the move to California), but Bryan had other plans and couldn’t come with us.

It’s hard to find a basement in a house tucked into the woods here in California, so when I was told by the landlady that our upstairs neighbors are musicians, I fell in love with the place. The fact that it’s beautiful, has BIG windows, hardwood floors, and is in a quiet part of a bustling, lakeside city neighborhood with tons of great ethnic restaurants had little to do with it. I knew the drum set would be perfectly suited for our living room. Jess wasn’t so convinced.

En route to our new digs, a deal was struck while driving West somewhere in Wisconsin or Idaho or South Dakota or somewhere. I could keep the drums in the living room on the condition that she could purchase a new couch. And even though we know they have a reputation of making crap furniture, and even though our trip blew away a huge proportion of our savings account, when she saw the Ikea off 580 on our way into town, I could see her turning to the Dark Side like Luke hanging on to the ledge, one hand already chopped off, the other thirsty for more action…

The whole Ikea experience has nothing at all to do with the furniture… It’s really all about walking through a gerbil maze of dream house mock-ups towards the smell of cinnamon buns and the promise of a hot dog and an ice cream cone at the end that keeps you going back for your next fix. It seems that in return for the free ride through the Swedes’ human maze experiment, most people are willing to put up with overpriced, substandard particleboard-and-staples furniture that they have to take home in a box and assemble for the next two days before they get to use it, and then it falls apart in a year or two.

If you haven’t been to Ikea, you’re missing out on one of the most incredible examples of applied psychology in marketing our species has to offer. I’d love to go back to school and do a Masters in marketing just so I could sit on a couch or lay down in a bed while watching people walk by with their eyes glazed over, tossing random crap they don’t need into an oversized blue and yellow shopping bag…

And that’s just what was happening on the afternoon of Sunday May 31st. We passed the line of lemmings entering the four-story parking garage and parked behind the giant blue box with equally gigantic yellow letters spelling “IKEA.” The place could house at least three minor league football stadiums, so the walk to the entrance took a few minutes. We went in, and followed the herd up the escalator. We got on the queue for the Swedish meatballs at the café (amazing how much nicer that sounds than “cafeteria,” which is what it really is), and after filling ourselves with the processed spheres of meat parts and binding agents, we were ready for our big adventure. We walked through showroom upon showroom of bright colors and designer styles with names like “Kjorkensteralp” and “Plaptenk” and letters like “ë” and “å” (what the %$^& does that mean?).

Well, we were pondering this jibberish on a sign dangling over one of the couches, when I noticed that the sign was bouncing… BOUNCING! Other signs nearby were doing the same thing! An earthquake?! I’M GONNA DIE IN IKEA??!!! This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

I pointed it out to Jess and she too felt the rumbling under her feet, the building shaking…

I was a little panicked, but having been so mesmerized and engrossed by the nearby sectional “Pupenon Bjorn” couch with the “Tronknut” attachment or whatever they were calling the couch with a trundle pull-out, Jess paid little attention. I snapped her out of her PsycholoSwede spell a second time, the signs dangling from the ceiling still shaking, our feet still bouncing up and down. There we stood, silent, for a good three seconds. Glancing around us we noticed that these were the only signs that were bouncing, and Jess commented that there were dozens of people nearby, probably thousands on the second floor alone. All I could think of was all of us trapped under the rubble of broken “Splonks” and “Dongeltrods.” Just then, Jess pointed out that perhaps IKEA builds their warehouse department store as strong as their “Dongletrods,” and that perhaps what were were witnessing was just the movement of the BUILDING, and not the earth beneath it. Lo and behold, the signs near us, and the shaking we felt were happening only in that part of the store.

Did we survive a potential Nightly News Disaster? OR was our earthquake merely a product of mass hypnosis caused by the mind control of the Swedes and their poorly designed, over-sized building? We may never know for sure, but I’m glad we got out of that store and decided to get our couch on Craigslist instead.