I hate shopping.
I hate shopping malls.
I love the city.
I love the country.

Torch everything in between
for all I care.
Suburbia is a cancer.

Unfortunately, my other half has to
trek into the consuming darkness
every now and then for business.
There is only one way to get me to go
the industrial ringworm surrounding
an indoor mall. Bribery.
Especially when the trip involves IKEA.

  I am known for my freak outs in said establishments. Allow me to set the scene: imagine a bad acid flashback, meets the beach scene in Apocalypse Now, combined with a soupcon of Turret’s Syndrome. That’s me Saturday at IKEA. Only one thing can keep me from meltdown. I need a focal point, deference, a happy place I can go to, an oasis of urbanity amidst the roiling Homogeneous Sea.

  Promise me Bar-B-Que and I can endure anything, for 45 minutes or less.

  And when you’re in the third circle of retail hell known as Southcenter, Bar-B-Que means The Caveman (807 W. Valley Highway in Kent) for tradition or The General (website here) at 19249 84th Ave S in also in Kent. I miss The General. He used to be off Madison in the city–I could ride my bike there for Sweet Potato and rib tips any time. The Caveman is my husband’s favorite, a tradition that goes way back.

  The sad thing about the Caveman, other than it being a bitch to find, is that they have yet to move into their old quirky space after a fire damaged it years ago. Think old time ice cream shack by the lake. The owner died and 5 children run it now. They stay in a gross strip mall across the street, fearing that their old, character-filled space would turn away people looking for indoor seating.

  Yeah, the old man succeeds enough to send the kids off to college, only so they can turn around and question his business acumen. Stupid children. Quit sucking the character out of the business and bring back the live chickens.
  Whoa, sorry. IKEA makes me bitchy. As opposed to my normal state, snarky.