A few months ago, I was in Ikea at the bistro on the main level eating a hot dog. I had also purchased a paper cup to fill up with soda at the fountain, but the ice machine didn't seem to be working -- an "Out of Order" sign was taped over it. Still, I dispensed some Pepsi for myself into the cup and went to sit down nearby.
Some minutes later, I hear some woman cursing loudly near the soda machine. She was being very indiscreet, letting loose multiple audible profanities. Intrigued, I wandered over, under the supposed pretence that I was gathering some napkins and refilling my drink.
The woman, who I had heard all the way across the bistro seating area, had yet to attract any other attention -- there were no employees intervening in the situation, which surprised me given the volume at which she was shouting.
The reason for the commotion immediately became apparent. She had evidently noticed the broken ice maker the same way I had, but instead of alerting one of the workers at the bistro or just going sans ice, she decided to take the problem into her own hands. Literally.
I got there at the perfect time. I had barely arrived when she started pulling at the top of the soda fountain. The machine was identical to
this one, with the same plastic covering with 'ICE' in big bold letters over the ice dispenser. With the "Out of Order" sign already strewn aside, she quickly removed said plastic covering without breaking too much of a sweat, before moving on to the transparent ice funnel underneath. She snapped that off, minding little of the potential damage she was causing to the fountain.
"Are you sure you should be doing that?" I thought to myself. I'm grateful that I didn't say it out loud, with the level of ferocity that she was displaying.
I couldn't believe what happened next. This woman, still swearing (though now under her breath) grabbed a wooden stir-stick and began jamming it into the now-gaping hole where the ice was intended to come out. Her valiant effort to dislodge the ice resulted in a couple of little chips coming out, but not much else. The stir-stick quickly shattered under the immense pressure she was putting on it, and for a moment I thought she would finally give in and fetch an employee.
Nope! She grabbed another stir-stick. And another. And
another. She kept vainly jamming these sticks up the chute, failing each time to dislodge any ice. Instead of thinking, "hey, maybe there isn't any ice", or, "hey, maybe I should go get some help", she kept smashing up the ice-maker with little positive result.
Finally, a worker noticed. The lady manning the counter of the bistro had begun to see the crowd of roughly a half-dozen people intently looking on in horror at this destructive woman. From about ten feet away, the employee's voice rang out with touches of amusement and disbelief.
"Just
what do you think you're doing?" she cried.
"Your machine. It's broken!" the woman replied, seemingly proud of her observation.
She was right... it absolutely
was broken. Surveying the two large pieces of plastic scattered on the countertop, the ripped-in-half "Out of Order" sign, and the splinters of wood scattered throughout the innards of the ice machine, the employee quickly shot back.
"It absolutely is broken, because of you! The ice machine was due for some routine maintenance this afternoon. Now, it'll be out of commission for at least a week while we replace the plastic coverings and filter out all of the wood!"
The woman said nothing, at first. She turned to her children (I forgot to mention... her two children, both boys, were there the whole time, watching with their mouths agape, as their mother went to town on the ice machine), and then said... words.
"Don't worry about her, kids. She makes the same amount in a year as I make in a day."
And with that, she strolled away, leaving the mess to the Ikea employee. To this day, I wonder how much it would have cost to replace the broken parts of the ice machine. It's since been fixed, and I presume that they didn't chase down the woman to bill her.
But I'll never forget the feeling of watching someone go crazy in an ice machine with a stir-stick.