The Ikea Couch and the Beep of Doom
The things we do for The Frankfort House.
First off, that’s the tentative name for our soon-to-be summer home in northern Michigan. We know it’s not very creative, but seeing as how we both started calling it that naturally, it seems like the right name (at least, for now).
Second, anyone who visits said home better enjoy the living room couch, because we had a doozy of a time getting it from Ikea to Indy. Unlike my blessed friends and family in the Detroit area, Indy has no Ikea. The closest one is a lovely 90-minute drive down I-74 in nearby Cincinnati. That means we go to Ikea with an empty Prius and return full to the brim with a smorgasbord of Swedish home furnishings.
Even though we’re trying to keep a country vibe with The Frankfort House, we still felt our last big-ticket purchase — a living room couch — could come from Ikea. The design isn’t too modern and the price was certainly right.
The original plan was to ask Caitlyn’s folks to swing by the Detroit Ikea, grab the couch, stuff it in the bed of our stepfather’s pickup and trek up to Frankfort, as a Prius is not conducive to moving couches. But as you’ve already seen from the wardrobe disaster of 2014, neither Caitlyn nor I know how to admit defeat.
As we pushed our precariously packed cart through the warehouse part of the store, we saw a display with several of the same couch we were looking at, all snugly packed in immensely heavy boxes ready to go home with eager shoppers. We looked at the dimensions of the box and took a nearby Ikea-branded paper ruler and concluded it would mostly fit in the Prius, save for up to 12-18 inches.
Caitlyn and I shot each other glance and seemed to be thinking the same thing: We moved a wardrobe back home by bungee-cording a Uhaul cargo van closed, so why not try to replicate success with a couch in a Prius?
After following the cattle … er, shoppers … through the checkout line, we proceeded to the loading lane, and then after flawlessly backing up the Prius between two cars in the lane, we started loading the couch. With everything in the car—including an extra piece of cardboard to sop up some of the pouring rain from the protruding box—we made our way to lunch across the interchange at Panera Bread.
As we started moving, we realized a fatal flaw in our plan: The Prius beeps whenever a door is open. And it doesn’t stop beeping. EVER. We scrambled to look online to find a way to “rig” it so it would stop beeping, but all we found was a set of instructions more difficult than trying to pick a perfect March Madness bracket. Plus, even though we followed those steps, it still didn’t work.
Eventually, we also realized we had a tarp in the car and were able to unearth it from the mound of Ikea swag to cover the box and better protect it from the elements. But, oh that beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
For 90 minutes home, it’s all we could hear. Even when we jacked up our MJ CD to unreasonable (nay, embarrassing?) levels for songs like “You Are Not Alone,” it was always some other noise rising to the top.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
When we’d get off the freeway to get gas, the beep would cease whenever the car stopped. Sweet, sweet relief. But as soon as we started again, and just when we were starting to get used to the constant beeping, it’s almost as if we were hearing the beep again for the first time.
Beep. Beep Beep. Seemingly louder than ever.
After a breezy and beepy 90-minute ride home, we were able to take our Motrin to soothe our headache and declare victory.
Next time we go to Ikea, no bungee cords allowed.