The proud owner of a chair (and desk)
It’s my dream come true: I now own a computer desk and swivel chair! After two months of sitting on the floor and brushing crumbs and dust bunnies off my mouse pad, I get to write and work on my computer at eye level, and lounge and spin in a chair. All together it cost me $26.95. Not bad, eh? Here’s the adventure as it unfolded (in case you were bored and wanted to read about it).
Last weekend I drove to Huntington Beach to visit my uncle and chill out in Southern California for my birthday. I hadn’t had any luck finding a cheap computer desk at Staples or the other office supply stores in Santa Cruz. So I decided to try the Ikea in Costa Mesa.
It was my first Ikea experience. I’d never been to a store where you need a map to find your way around. I’d also never been to a store where social order and crowd control is necessary. A one-way walking path was between displays of furniture. Everyone moved in one direction. Those going against the flow of traffic — going the wrong way down a one-way street — were corralled and forced to go the right way. The store attendants were like sheepdogs. I didn’t see this happen, but I’m sure it has. People have been killed at Ikea. Seriously.
In the office furniture section I found a simple, birch wood computer desk for twenty bucks. I took down the isle and bin number and headed toward the self serve marketplace on the first floor. The marketplace is Ikea’s fancy name for their warehouse, where all the boxes of furniture, plates and glasses, and whatnot are. At the counter I whipped out my credit card and — voila — I had a desk. As an added bonus my uncle and I walked out with our lives, free of charge.
I bought my new chair over lunch today. I drove to the UCSC surplus store, where the university sells its unwanted equipment and furniture. It was nothing like the UI surplus store in Iowa City, but it had the same, shitty hours. The manager was talking with the only other customer when I walked in. I looked around and caught bits and pieces of the conversation. They discussed the exploding color TV market in India. According to the manager, most Indians still own black and white televisions. Interesting. But it wasn’t as interesting as the five dollar task chair I found. It had blue fabric, arm rests, and contours in the seat and back. It was so ‘70s — perfect for my taste. I pulled it out from under a table and sat down. It was deep and comfortable. It leaned back and swiveled. I was in heaven.
The surplus store needed exact change. It didn’t have a bank, as the manager said. As I handed him the money (one five dollar bill, one quarter, one dime, one nickel, and one penny) he announced, “You are now the proud owner of a chair.” His voice echoed among the high rafters, and I smiled.
Last weekend I drove to Huntington Beach to visit my uncle and chill out in Southern California for my birthday. I hadn’t had any luck finding a cheap computer desk at Staples or the other office supply stores in Santa Cruz. So I decided to try the Ikea in Costa Mesa.
It was my first Ikea experience. I’d never been to a store where you need a map to find your way around. I’d also never been to a store where social order and crowd control is necessary. A one-way walking path was between displays of furniture. Everyone moved in one direction. Those going against the flow of traffic — going the wrong way down a one-way street — were corralled and forced to go the right way. The store attendants were like sheepdogs. I didn’t see this happen, but I’m sure it has. People have been killed at Ikea. Seriously.
In the office furniture section I found a simple, birch wood computer desk for twenty bucks. I took down the isle and bin number and headed toward the self serve marketplace on the first floor. The marketplace is Ikea’s fancy name for their warehouse, where all the boxes of furniture, plates and glasses, and whatnot are. At the counter I whipped out my credit card and — voila — I had a desk. As an added bonus my uncle and I walked out with our lives, free of charge.
I bought my new chair over lunch today. I drove to the UCSC surplus store, where the university sells its unwanted equipment and furniture. It was nothing like the UI surplus store in Iowa City, but it had the same, shitty hours. The manager was talking with the only other customer when I walked in. I looked around and caught bits and pieces of the conversation. They discussed the exploding color TV market in India. According to the manager, most Indians still own black and white televisions. Interesting. But it wasn’t as interesting as the five dollar task chair I found. It had blue fabric, arm rests, and contours in the seat and back. It was so ‘70s — perfect for my taste. I pulled it out from under a table and sat down. It was deep and comfortable. It leaned back and swiveled. I was in heaven.
The surplus store needed exact change. It didn’t have a bank, as the manager said. As I handed him the money (one five dollar bill, one quarter, one dime, one nickel, and one penny) he announced, “You are now the proud owner of a chair.” His voice echoed among the high rafters, and I smiled.
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