Just beyond the attractive patio furniture, the yellow walled escalator beckoned. We turned and stepped onto the toothed staircase. We knew the dangers; the many temptations that could detract us from our mission. If one dares enter, one must have either explicit intentions or no time constraints. My colleague Michelle and I had the former.
At the top, we stepped off and into the mouth of the multi-story behemoth named IKEA.
Days before this venture, Michelle had scouted out the terrain and had decided on storage containers for grade level math manipulatives. Procuring those and some cushions for chairs defined our quest.
We entered, walking boldly past tables and baskets, shiny metallic containers and neatly arranged desks. Down and around and around we went until we came to the floor that housed bins of chair cushions named Muttla and Meelka, Malika and Medina. Similar, yet different. Decisions about color, size, price and two filled shopping carts later, we move on.
Down and around and around.
Swirling purples and greens attract me to the sheets that could be bulletin board covering. I consider. Two sets. Was it walking in circles or the bins that dislocated my monetary sensibilities? A glance at the price point sobers me, and my hands unclench. The package falls harmlessly back into the bin.
Down and around again.
We arrive at the container floor. Reaching our goal, we survey the merchandise; consider the possibilities of durability, convenience, and price. Decisions made we count and recount our stacks and hurry to the stairs that lead to the exit.
Breathless at check out we marvel at our conquest.
“Only teachers and pregnant women come to IKEA,” Michelle quips. I laugh, and we talk about the parents we’ve seen over the years, fussing over cribs and changing tables.
Teachers and pregnant women. Nesting. Preparing for our brood. Only a strong primal instinct would allow such a dangerous journey.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for Slice of Life Tuesdays. Read more slices here.