The Woman, The Legend, The Myth

They say it has seldom happened, if ever it happened at all. The mighty giant that sleeps next to the roadway lures its victims in with bright colors on its skin and all around it, pennants snapping in the wind from Airbuses passing overhead.

They say the giant opens its whale-like mouth and sucks in men and women like mere plankton, then after sucking out the very marrow of their bones, spits them back onto the asphalt bed where it rests.

She came from the west, in a silver bullet, one woman, one mind, one list. Valiantly, she entered the door.

Without comment, she stood next to the immigrant family at the elevator where none of them realized the elevator button had not been pushed.

She moved stealthily through the beast, knowing the heart of it must lie somewhere along the path. She pitied those who shambled next to her, those who disputed the virtues of fake cherry veneer versus fake beech veneer or whether this cabinet could serve as a shelf.

The shrieks of children pierced her ears as she descended more deeply into the belly of the beast.

She had to ignore them, watching desperate parents trying to save their children from the bubbling, colorful spheres that threatened to devour them.

And yet she moved on. Past the hot cave of lamps with irreplaceable shades. Past the candles and frames and knick knacks and clocks until there, at last, at long last, she found it:

The wall organization unit for her study, complete with lots of cool little cups and clips and snap-in thingmies for scissors and rulers and pencils.

But this was where the real struggle began. Did she buy two of these boards? Three? How many little cup sets?

Her strength began to fail at this most desperate moment. She was too warm, too thirsty, her head buzzed with measurements she should have taken before she left home.

And yet she stood, and gathered to her the loot she so struggled to acquire. With one quick stab of her debit card, she was free, and for one day, the mighty IKEA was slain and lay in its death throes behind her.

Until the next time she needs curtains, that is...