in which a trip to Ikea isn't only dangerous to my wallet ...
For Tuesday night, the original plan was to go for beer and food with Lindsay after work; but when the afternoon came around, and I'd been browsing online during lunch, I felt more inclined to go home and drive to Stoughton and visit the Massachusetts Ikea. This alternative was made much less guilty when Lindsay texted to reschedule, as she was projecting that she would be at work until eight or nine in the evening.
So I went home instead. It was a little before six when I made it to my door, and I wavered on the notion of making the drive. The cons: the lateness of the hour, the weather being dreary, the roads being slick. The pros: Ikea likely being empty and easy to navigate, the cafeteria still being open by my estimated arrival. There was also the fact that I didn't think I would be able--or want--to make it out any other night this week. I actually stood on the threshold with my hand on the doorknob weighing the pros and cons.
And I left. It was a little after six. I should've been to Ikea by seven, according to the GPS.
Except that I had an accident.
It wasn't anything serious, obviously. I'm sitting here typing this, and I was at work yesterday, and no clear and obvious harm done to either vehicle involved. Just bloody loud and scary, and I won't be keen on driving in the rain again any time soon.
What happened is this: I had to change lanes to get into the exit lane--which also happens to merge with an entry lane. Recipe for lots of cars stopping and starting too fast, and disastrous in the rain. I changed into the lane behind a van, which hit the breaks suddenly, I hit my breaks--and while my breaks worked just fine, the tires lost traction. I wailed and grit my teeth, and my car slid into the van and bounced off like a carnival bumper car.
Paused to take a breath after impact, and then, following suit, turned on my emergency blinkers and pulled over to the shoulder. I've never been the driver in an accident before. I was properly freaked out, and the rush of adrenaline had my hands shaking and fumbling with the door to get out.
The driver of the van was a young woman, and we both made sure that the other was all right before we checked the state of our vehicles. It didn't appear that my car had even made a dent in the van's bumper, and the only observable evidence of impact on the Jetta was the front license plate molded to form around the bumper. We decided to exchange details anyway, but then realised that neither of us had been in an accident before and we had no idea what to exchange.
There was a road-crew working on the highway a couple yards behind us, and a few of the men wandered over to check on our well being--so we asked them for advice and they were very helpful.
After all of that, the sensible thing probably would have been to go home... But, crazy as this is, I think I wanted to make the accident worth it, somehow. So I kept going.
And I arrived at Ikea at 19.15--only ten minutes later than the original estimate.
Made a beeline for the lavatory, quickly followed by the cafeteria. The store closes at nine, but the cafeteria closes at eight. Add to that the fact that I was still feeling on edge from the collision. Dinner definitely helped improve my mood and composure.
Shopping for what I wanted only took half an hour, and most of that was made up of walking. I already knew what I wanted, so it was just a matter of going to the couch showroom and flagging down a sales associate. That's usually easier said than done on a weekend, but on a weeknight--they're looking for needy customers.
I had the saleswoman print out the order form for one of these:
And then I continued on through the maze of showrooms until I made it to the marketplace. I was ready to breeze on through, but the textiles always catch my eye. So I stopped to admire, and spotted this:
I thought it would look nice with the wall colour in my living room, so I grabbed one and put it in my shopping cart. As strongly tempted as I was by the other decor and accessories in the marketplace, I managed to put on my blinders and wheel it over to check-out. The cashier gave me the retrieval slip to present at furniture pick-up, and I aimed my trolley in that direction.
Optimism led me to believe that maybe--just maybe--the packages containing the sofa parts would be small enough to fit in my car if I folded down all the seats. But when the warehouse attendant rolled out the boxes I knew ... Oh, no. No chance in hell. And even if I did somehow manage to wedge it into my car, there was no guarantee that I'd be able to get it out again and up my flight of stairs. So I opted for home-delivery, which I was told I will be called about today to give me a definite time window when I need to be at home.
The rug and the box of slip covers for the couch, I brought home with me, though they offered to include them in the delivery. I really just wanted something immediate to show for my real and potential trouble.
The drive home was much less eventful than the drive there (to my very great relief), and the weather had cleared up considerably, so it wasn't yet ten o'clock by the time I got home.
I sprawled on the air mattress (the current seating arrangement for the living room) for a bit to watch some L&O:CI and admire the new rug in its room while pondering the night's events. I curled up and nearly passed out there, but I roused myself enough to turn of the television and go to real-bed.
Mostly just happy not to be dead--and, as much as I might morbidly joke sometimes, not be the cause of someone else's being so.
And I think the lesson of all this is: When you have drinking plans, don't cancel them.
Yes, I'm being glib. It's a coping mechanism. Like my retail therapy. Deal with it.
[***EDIT: Also, if you have any kind of rapport with my parents, do me a favour and don't mention this incident. Thanks. END EDIT.***]
So I went home instead. It was a little before six when I made it to my door, and I wavered on the notion of making the drive. The cons: the lateness of the hour, the weather being dreary, the roads being slick. The pros: Ikea likely being empty and easy to navigate, the cafeteria still being open by my estimated arrival. There was also the fact that I didn't think I would be able--or want--to make it out any other night this week. I actually stood on the threshold with my hand on the doorknob weighing the pros and cons.
And I left. It was a little after six. I should've been to Ikea by seven, according to the GPS.
Except that I had an accident.
It wasn't anything serious, obviously. I'm sitting here typing this, and I was at work yesterday, and no clear and obvious harm done to either vehicle involved. Just bloody loud and scary, and I won't be keen on driving in the rain again any time soon.
What happened is this: I had to change lanes to get into the exit lane--which also happens to merge with an entry lane. Recipe for lots of cars stopping and starting too fast, and disastrous in the rain. I changed into the lane behind a van, which hit the breaks suddenly, I hit my breaks--and while my breaks worked just fine, the tires lost traction. I wailed and grit my teeth, and my car slid into the van and bounced off like a carnival bumper car.
Paused to take a breath after impact, and then, following suit, turned on my emergency blinkers and pulled over to the shoulder. I've never been the driver in an accident before. I was properly freaked out, and the rush of adrenaline had my hands shaking and fumbling with the door to get out.
The driver of the van was a young woman, and we both made sure that the other was all right before we checked the state of our vehicles. It didn't appear that my car had even made a dent in the van's bumper, and the only observable evidence of impact on the Jetta was the front license plate molded to form around the bumper. We decided to exchange details anyway, but then realised that neither of us had been in an accident before and we had no idea what to exchange.
There was a road-crew working on the highway a couple yards behind us, and a few of the men wandered over to check on our well being--so we asked them for advice and they were very helpful.
After all of that, the sensible thing probably would have been to go home... But, crazy as this is, I think I wanted to make the accident worth it, somehow. So I kept going.
And I arrived at Ikea at 19.15--only ten minutes later than the original estimate.
Made a beeline for the lavatory, quickly followed by the cafeteria. The store closes at nine, but the cafeteria closes at eight. Add to that the fact that I was still feeling on edge from the collision. Dinner definitely helped improve my mood and composure.
Shopping for what I wanted only took half an hour, and most of that was made up of walking. I already knew what I wanted, so it was just a matter of going to the couch showroom and flagging down a sales associate. That's usually easier said than done on a weekend, but on a weeknight--they're looking for needy customers.
I had the saleswoman print out the order form for one of these:
And then I continued on through the maze of showrooms until I made it to the marketplace. I was ready to breeze on through, but the textiles always catch my eye. So I stopped to admire, and spotted this:
I thought it would look nice with the wall colour in my living room, so I grabbed one and put it in my shopping cart. As strongly tempted as I was by the other decor and accessories in the marketplace, I managed to put on my blinders and wheel it over to check-out. The cashier gave me the retrieval slip to present at furniture pick-up, and I aimed my trolley in that direction.
Optimism led me to believe that maybe--just maybe--the packages containing the sofa parts would be small enough to fit in my car if I folded down all the seats. But when the warehouse attendant rolled out the boxes I knew ... Oh, no. No chance in hell. And even if I did somehow manage to wedge it into my car, there was no guarantee that I'd be able to get it out again and up my flight of stairs. So I opted for home-delivery, which I was told I will be called about today to give me a definite time window when I need to be at home.
The rug and the box of slip covers for the couch, I brought home with me, though they offered to include them in the delivery. I really just wanted something immediate to show for my real and potential trouble.
The drive home was much less eventful than the drive there (to my very great relief), and the weather had cleared up considerably, so it wasn't yet ten o'clock by the time I got home.
I sprawled on the air mattress (the current seating arrangement for the living room) for a bit to watch some L&O:CI and admire the new rug in its room while pondering the night's events. I curled up and nearly passed out there, but I roused myself enough to turn of the television and go to real-bed.
Mostly just happy not to be dead--and, as much as I might morbidly joke sometimes, not be the cause of someone else's being so.
And I think the lesson of all this is: When you have drinking plans, don't cancel them.
Yes, I'm being glib. It's a coping mechanism. Like my retail therapy. Deal with it.
[***EDIT: Also, if you have any kind of rapport with my parents, do me a favour and don't mention this incident. Thanks. END EDIT.***]