Day 752: The Chair, Part 11 – The Friendships, Part 2 = Dan

I met Dan while playing little league baseball 24 years ago, just after his family had moved to Atlanta from Fargo, North Dakota.  We were both the bench warmers and we’ve been friends ever since.  

A couple years after that faithful baseball seasons ended, Go Pirates!  My parents switched parishes from Holy Family to St. Ann’s.  I had been an altar server at Holy Family, so as soon as we made the move to St. Ann’s I signed up… and guess who I found?  That’s right… Dan; and we pick-up right where we left off from baseball.

After altar servers, Dan and I moved straight into church youth group together… and then… well… and then we both took a very separate, yet similar path into Theatre.

You see, one interesting aspect of my friendship with Dan is the fact that we NEVER attended the same school.  Friends for 24 years… and never once did we have a class together… or a lunch period together… nothing.  We were just friends… friends by choice, not proximity.

It was sometime in high school, where we both started getting involved with our High School Drama Clubs… and through our friendship, our two separate Drama Clubs began to bond and support one another… by the end of High School, I was pretty much performing exclusively with a community theatre made up of folks from both of our schools.

Since then, we have supported each other through college.  He visited me a few time in Charleston.  Serena and I have visited him in NY (where he now lives).  Dan even flew back down to Atlanta for my wedding.

Dan and Cara (his long time girlfriend who Serena and I adore) are actually getting married this month, but I’ll be in Pakistan and I’m really bummed that I’m going to miss it.  We tried to make a wedding show thrown for them while we were in town for home leave… but you know… life happened.  We weren’t able to sync up our scheduled.

Till next time Dan & Cara!  We love you guys!  We’ll be thinking about you on your wedding day!

Oh… and this is pretty funny.  When IBM transferred my father to Atlanta, he was actually given the choice between two locations: Atlanta, GA and Fargo, ND.  That’s right.  Dan and I were destine to be friends for life.  He even moved to Atlanta to make that happen.

And another thing, Dan is certainly not a bench warmer any more… he’s quite the Ultimate Frisbee enthusiast.  As for me?  Well… I blog… my fingers are ripped!

Day 751: The Chair, Part 10 – The Friendships, Part 1

Time out!

Before I continue telling you about ‘The Chair’ I need to tell you something about Costello:  He is my very best friend in the world.  Friendship is very important to me and with a select few individuals I have developed tremendously strong/lifelong bonds and over the years I have developed a kind of short hand with these friends that has allowed us to pick-up where we left off… which is really important with how much I travel… where we all live... and how much time normally goes by without getting to see my friends.

Friendships are important. And before I tell you about Costello… I need to tell you about some of my other friends… six other to be exact… in the end I think it will better illustrate the bond that Costello and I have.

Now, I don’t want to come across like I am ranking my friends. That’s the farthest thing from the truth.  All six people I will tell you about over the next few days know Costello.  And I am sure they understand where I am coming.

Friendships are very important.  And as Serena likes to point out… most of my close friendships are freakishly long… almost unnatural in length.  So, if I’ve know you less than thirteen years… don’t feel bad… there’s still plenty of time.

Day 750: The Chair, Part 9 – The Shuttle

When a company who operates stores all over the world… like… well… say… a company like IKEA, advertizes a free shuttle that will transport customers from a specific underground station to the store every 15 minutes… one would think it would be clearly marked.  One would think.

After exiting the train Costello and I made our way up the stairs and through the turn styles and finally back into the grey, misty, dampness that can only be England. Although we found our way to the exit without a problem… we couldn’t quite tell where the IKEA shuttle was supposed to pick us up.  Over the next ten minutes we asked a half a dozen station employees regarding the whereabouts of the pick-up location… each one giving us a vague explanation as to how the shuttle works and the location we should be standing.  For the most part… all of the various pick-up locations were pretty much in the same vicinity.  So, we parked ourselves in the middle of the area and waited.

10 minutes became 15… 15 minutes became 20… The shuttle was supposed to pick up every 15 minutes; we should have seen a shuttle by then.  But instead… it started to rain… RAIN!  More RAIN?!?

20 minutes turned into 30… and still we hadn’t seen the IKEA shuttle… and remember; Costello and I still intended to make it back to London in time for the Jack the Ripper Walking Tour.

Finally, we gave up on IKEA and found a city bus that went by the IKEA, stopping across the street from the store… so we jumped on and continued our journey.

Day 749: The Chair, Part 8 – The Exit

FINALLY!

With the line cutting girl out of my face and coast clear in front of me… I checked-out and once I got the cart moving again Grayson started to chill.

Hurray!

However, when I reached the sliding doors separating the main lobby from the parking garage I froze in horror.  Someone had opened the flood gates… there was an endlessly steady stream of people entering the store from the garage.  I just stood there, assuming the masses would yield to a parent with a small child burdened by three large boxes, just like they did at the check--- Never mind.

As always, I was wrong.  The IKEA whistle was still blaring in the ears of everyone but me.  The masses had lost their minds!

In situations like this, my normal tactic is to make eye contact with people.  You see, in the real world, people would recognize the need behind my eyes and yield, step aside, hold the door open, and maybe even lend a hand.  But at IKEA… the land that reason forgot, I received quite the opposite reaction.

Every time I made eye contact with a person entering the store with my sad eyes and sideways smile I was greeted with a look of fear.  And this happened on more than one occasion during the 10 minutes it took me to exit the store.

Literally, I would make eye contact, see a look of fear and then the person would start walking faster.  One woman even started jogging.  I’m not kidding!

Apparently, the thought of letting someone enter (or exit) IKEA before them was so horrifying that all common courtesies had been abandoned. When I had enough of their childish displays… I looked at Grayson and said, “Are you ready to man up.”

Grayson:  “You know it pop’s.”

We did our secret father/son handshake… and I started pushing our cart towards the door.

Seeing us make our move caused the flow of people entering the store to speed up.  Their looks of fear grew when they saw the length of one of my boxes balanced across my cart… it was almost the same length as the opening of the door.  The flow continued relentlessly… but I continued to push forward without hesitation… refusing to chicken out. Just like James Dean.

Finally I reached the door… and literally, people started diving and squeezing through the small openings between the ends of my boxes and the doors.  Even after I made it into the door way… essentially blocking all access to the store people still tried to push through.  One woman, probably my mom’s age, tried a last minute attack which ultimately failed when she ran into my boxes… realizing she wasn’t going to make it she sulked off wafting a great deal of attitude in my direction… and just as I crossed through, moving away from the door, unclogging IKEA’s main artery… everyone lost their mind again… pushing and shoving to get past me and into the store… Grayson and I were so tussled that all of our boxes were knocked off the cart before we had completely exited the flow of traffic.

Not one person, I repeat… NOT ONE PERSON offered to help… everyone just walked around us, over us, and give us looks of disgust for being so incontinently in their way.

And folks, I think it is important to understand that this did not take place over a holiday weekend… this did not happen on a weekend at all.  There were no crazy sales… it was just a normal Monday morning.

I was livid by the whole experience.  I couldn’t believe it.  All that for a chair.  A chair!  Errrr… a chair.  At that moment I swore never to visit an IKEA every again.

*****

The Underground train groaned to a stop.  The doors opened.  Costello and I disembarked.  The last leg of our trip would be above ground.  On the IKEA shuttle bus.

Day 748: The Chair, Part 7 – The First Trip to IKEA

The next morning, I loaded Grayson into the car and headed off to IKEA.  I was actually pretty excited; I had heard a lot of really great thing about the store.

Our arrival was uneventful… and our shopping experience was pretty uneventful as well.  I found the chair without a problem… as well as some new jungle curtains for Gray’s bedroom and a reasonably priced children’s art easel.  Just three things… and quickly made our exit, just as the showroom started to become more and more crowded.

Since Grayson and I don’t really care for crowds we dashed for the item pick-up areas and finally the check-out.  Which was already packed full… with a fairly long wait… and it was a mess.  There had to have been 40 check-out lanes open, yet every single one of them must have had 10+ people waiting.

Where in the world did these people come from?  They were pushing their way into lines… cutting… screaming, complaining… Grayson started to lose it… he was only two years old at the time, so it was a pretty big father/son trip.  He had really kept it together until the very end.

Eventually, I found a line and committed to it, all the while trying to get Gray to calm down… unsuccessfully.

Then… when I was about two people away from the checkout counter someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned to see a young woman, who looked at me and asked, “Can I go ahead of you?  I only have one item.”

I was totally flapped… was this woman serious?  There were at least a half dozen people behind me and she asks to cut?  Just because she has one item?  I was 100% dumbfounded.  My jaw hit the floor and she just stared back at me while I completed processing what she was asking, my surroundings, and my screaming child.

What came out of my mouth has actually been debated by a number of my friends.  Some think I was incredibly rude and should have let her cut without saying anything… others applaud the dialogue and think I should have done something even more rude… like throw my shoe at her.  You be the judge.

Finally, when I regained my wits:

Me: “Are you a doctor?”

Girl: “What?

Me: “Are you a doctor?  Are you trying to get to an emergency?”

Girl: “Umm... no, I just have one item.”

Me:  “Interesting.  I have three items, granted that’s two more than you have, but I also have a crying child, which should count for something.

Girl: “Umm…”

Me:  “You know, in most cultures people yield to those with children, cause trust me, standing in a never ending line with this guys is no picnic for me either.  If you were a doctor or something I’d be willing to entertain the notion.  But, judging by the length of your skirt, the cut of your top, and the fact you approached me and not her…”
Me: “… I can only assume you’re just trying to jump in line because you don’t feel like waiting."
Me: “Huh, it looks to me that he doesn’t feel like waiting either.  But we are… because no one cares about the guy with the crying kid.”

The girl didn’t move.  She just kind of stared at me… now she was dumbfounded… however; there was still a glint of hope in her eyes.  She still thought I might let her cut.  Was she really so used to getting her way?  Evidently.

Me: “Seriously, if you’re not a doctor, you should probably go to the end of the line, and I would hurry, from the looks of it, it’s getting longer.”

Girl: “Oh… ummm… thank you.”

And you know what?  She did go to the end of the line… for about 10 seconds… long enough to spot another dude she could shake her Ikeas at.

Day 747: The Chair, Part 6 – The Ides of March

As Costello and I stepped onto the second train I remembered something.  I had been so caught-up in my story about the glider chair I had forgotten the frightening purpose of our trip.  We were going to Ikea.


Nothing good ever comes from a trip to Ikea.  Yet, I was on my way… again.


This was only my second trip to an Ikea store, my first trip was almost two years prior, in Atlanta.  And that experience left me with… well… all I can say is this:  Ikea is officially the second scariest place on Earth… just behind Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.


I don’t know why, but people seem to lose their minds when they go to Ikea.  It’s as if there is a frequency, kind of like a dog whistle, specially designed for Ikeas shoppers which causes them to lose all reason and sensibility… urging them to purchase modular furniture.  


Evidentially, this is a frequency I am unable to hear.


So, what led me to visit Ikea in the first place?  This is a dumb question because you know it was because of a CHAIR.  It’s ALWAYS about a chair.  I should have known better.  A chair never leads to candy canes and ice cream… only sorrow and deep longing to see sunlight and a good cry.


Anyway, while attending a bar-bq at a friend’s house, Serena and I were admiring a children’s sized arm chair… 


Our Friend Heather: “Oh, isn’t it great?  We got it at Ikea for $20.00, KJ loves it.”


Serena: “Honey, we should get one for Grayson, he would love it, too.”  


Me: “Yeah… we should… you know, I don’t have to work tomorrow, I could take Grayson to get one… I’ve never been to Ikea, so yeah… I’d love to check it out.” 


Soothsayer: “DOOM… DOOM I SAY!!!!  Beware!  Beware the Forbidden City!  Beware the ides---”  


Me: “Heather, why is there a creepy old lady in your back yar--- Yummy, Ribs!  Awesome! This is the best March 4th party I’ve ever attended!”


I should have listened.  But I was foolish. So, so foolish.

Day 746: The Chair, Part 5 – The Glider Chair

The train still hadn’t arrived and Costello began to get restless, “We’ve been waiting here a long time.”


“Yes we have... too long in fact… it’s time for the Glider Chair story.”


You see, back in the States, after having Grayson we got this really nice hand-me-down glider chair… I can’t remember where this chair came from… but I’m pretty sure about this single fact.  The chair was forged in hell.


For those of you who haven’t met Serena yet or don’t know about this adorable trait of hers, let me explain.  Serena has a pathological need to rock… even if the chair doesn’t… she’ll just sit and move back and forth incessantly.  Sometimes when we’re sharing a stationary couch and she worked herself into a rocking frenzy, bobbing in and out of my peripheral vision while we watch TV… I will start to get a little seasick.  So, I’ll have to position myself in such a way were she doesn’t invade my line of sight.  So, with the addition of her very own glider chair small portion of my sanity was saved… at least for a little while.  


Even with the chair carefully positioned out of my peripherals… the chair turned on me… after a couple months… it started to squeak… and it squeaked BAD!  


Folks… I spend hours, days, and entire weekends trying to figure out where the squeak was going from.  


Armed with a screw driver and a can of WD40 I went to war with this chair.  And I won!  So I thought.


After a long afternoon of tightening and loosening screws and oiling the chairs moving parts I would sit and rock.  


Silence.  


Perfect, blissful silence.  I won!


And then, later in the evenings, after my successful battles with the glider chair, Serena would sit and rock… and the chair would squeak, Squeak, SQUEAK!


 The chair was mocking me.  Laughing at me, just like the dang wedding chairs!


There was nothing I could do about it… after my fifth attempt at ‘fixing’ the chair I realized the squeak was a weight compression issue.  The chair didn’t squeak when I was sitting in it because I was heavy enough to compress all of the moving parts, rendering them silent.  Serena simply wasn’t heavy enough.  


As a solution I suggested we eat more processed foods and pasta… but that didn’t fly with Serena.  So instead… I found myself wandering aimlessly though Home Depot looking for heavy things… and then dreaming up ways to attach those items to the bottom of the chair.  In the end I developed a plan which involved attaching ceramic tiles to the bottom of the chair… but I never tested it out… we joined the Foreign Service and we exiled the chair to Hagerstown.


But I am sure we will meet again Glider Chair… our battle is far from over.