Ikea 2 - Into the Pit

Ikea 2. Into the Pit

Far Far away in another Galaxy Ikea does not exist – what need of Bonj Seating in zero gravity? I ponder this as I pilot the Ford Transit out of the rental forecourt. It’s a bit beaten and it’s been around the Universe a few times, it’s no Millennium Falcon but its mine – at least for the next 24 hours.

My crew mutters to me in a strange language, I ignore it; after all it’s my wife who got me into this mess. Her with her post communist ways, I didn’t bring her here just to embrace capitalism with so much verve. She mutters to me again, this time in English, reminding me that this sector of Plymouth is peppered with speed cameras. I reassure her that I have no speed on me. Indeed I have never done any class A drug.

As we hit the M5 I push the old ship to warp factor 6 and boy does she go. I tap a few keys and confirm with my office that today I am ‘working from home’. I’ll assume that they know that I live in a tin cave that is nosier than an Apollo launch on a quiet Sunday in Florida.

Two hours is all it takes for us to reach the old haunt of my personal nemesis. We dock the smoking old ship and approach the grey haunting cliffs of Ikea on foot. As we reach the bottom of the cliff the great maws of the beast slide open with a deathless hiss. I am transfixed. My life flashes before me. I try to remember the moves from my old training manual. ‘The Captain Kirk Method of Restraining more Powerful and Bigger Aliens while only being a Mere Mortal with a tri-corder’. Damn, I’d also forgotten to wear my Girdle (guaranteed to make me more manly and irresistible to strange women just like Kirk)

We were drawn inside my crew and I, we were powerless, transfixed by the bright lights, the discounted products and the promise of strange alien meatballs.

‘Chekhov status report please’ I barked. I staggered as a huge force hit me. It was my wife reminding me her name was Tonya and not Chekhov. We made for the wardrobe sector.

Three hours later found us still wandering around the beasts cave for the third time, slightly hysterical and with no hope of escape. I had to admit it I had been beaten despite being braver than Han Solo. My wife however had gained the strength of a super being and seemed to be drugged - such was the strange frenzy of shopping madness that she found herself in.

Every strangely named item had to be caressed, investigated and logged just like a biologist on the Beagle investigating the New World but I am sure that the Captain of that ship (Robert Fitzroy) didn’t have to put up with the pleading, the moaning, the puppy dog eyes and the threats of contacting the Ukrainian Mafia if I didn’t comply when the requests were refused.

I couldn’t contain her the beast had consumed her mind and replaced it with that of a shopping robot. I knew I was safe ( re Asimov’s 1st Robot Law - A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm).

But what of Laws two and three?
Law 2 tells us a robot must obey orders given it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. Clearly this wasn’t happening.

‘No don’t put it in the trolley’ I’d say

She’d look at me with blank eyes, mutter something about it’s ‘only 2 pounds’ and completely disregard my orders.

I couldn’t stop her or 'it' as my wife had now become. The third law had come into force
A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law and as long as the shops are open.

I’m now worrying that she may be pregnant and in the throws of nest building such was the fury of her shopping. I knew I had to do something before this monster destroyed us.
First I distracted her by mentioning food and then God was on our side, she needed the toilet and they are ON THE OTHER SIDE of the checkouts.

We made it unscathed. Soon our holds were loaded with the plunder and my bank was lighter by about 30 million roubles! We left that hell hole behind us chomping down on the strange alien food purveyed at the exit. Strange finger like objects that purported to be Veggie hotdogs and pinkish rubbery Swedish hotdogs that looked like the meat had dropped in from Outer Space. But it was sustenance.

The old machine was soon cruising at warp speed and we sat back and reminisced about the old times. Ha! - how we laughed about forgetting to pay for the picture hangers that had slipped into a box by mistake. How disappointed we were that they were out of Rommsackee footstools and hell we didn’t need a Blaargh kitchen tool holder anyway.

We were just happy to have escaped with our lives and sanity intact (although I can’t vouch for my wife at this time).

O how I look forward to the weekend. Of putting my advanced furniture making skills to the test and then settling back into our new contemporary lifestyle. O how our friends well envy us.

Live Long and Prosper!