IKEA is like that friend nobody likes but who always buys the booze

Standing in front of shoulder-high stack of squiggle-shaped, red, orange and blue vases, I realized I needed to leave IKEA. Immediately.

A short woman next to me was breathing on my arm as she stretched across for a green bamboo stalk that fit perfectly into the squiggle vases. “Excuse me,” she said in a way that might have been nice if she wasn’t giving me the stink eye. A couple on my left, clutching their big nylon IKEA bags and IKEA tape measures, were debating between three and five of the squiggle vases, because odd numbers are vastly more interesting than even numbers.

My sudden need to escape was sparked by this: I myself was just about to reach for green bamboo stalks - three or maybe five of them. I don’t think anyone wakes up one morning, stretches contentedly and says, “Today I’m going to be a lemming. I’m going to shop where everyone shops, and I’m going to be throw all originality to hell. (Claps hands)”

But despite people’s best intentions, they find themselves in IKEA, throwing elbows to get that not-even-close-to-one-of-a-kind plywood storage unit. It’s very surreal there walking from trendy living room to trendy living room, like a nightmare where you try to run out the door just to find yourself in the same room – only slightly different. Oh God, it’s that sectional sleeper couch, but this time in CHOCOLATE BROWN. RUN.
But they're cheap. You know? CHEAP.