[I hope my rants make you laugh… that’s my goal. I admit to some exaggeration for entertainment purposes.]
This post is dedicated to Diane… who mentioned IKEA and brought up all these Scandinavian emotions.
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i | ikea
I love IKEA. I really do. People mock their furniture and yes, some of it is crap. But we have some pieces we love. And since we’re not stupid enough to neglect safety measures, nothing has ever fallen on our children. This is not something that concerns me.
But I do have to consider the more serious issues that face us at IKEA.
It’s a fucking maze.
I give them credit for their floor arrows. They’re trying to help. Yet I always look down and find those arrows pointing right at me. How does this happen? It’s going to be different this time, I tell myself. But somehow, no matter where I start, I soon find myself in an awkward and frightening position. I am about to be trampled by a couple and their 14 children.
Usually, I just give up and continue walking against traffic. [Isn’t that the law anyway? Ride with, walk against? I must be doing it right…] But I do find myself hopping into random displays as needed to avoid being trampled. And I can’t help but wonder if everyone walking in the ‘right‘ direction is wondering why some idiot (me) isn’t following the arrows.
The worst goal you can possibly have at IKEA is, ‘I just need this one thing and I’m done here.‘ First of all, there’s Target-syndrome. If I really do leave with just that one thing, I should bottle up that superpower and sell it for profit. But I won’t even get to that until I find that one fucking thing.
If it’s something I’ve previously purchased, I really need to stop fooling myself by assuming it will be in the same place it was at the time of my initial purchase. It won’t be there. It may not be anywhere… because if I love it, they have probably discontinued it. So… I have to be prepared to search like I’m part of a fucking rescue party searching for a lost polar bear in the snow. And I have to accept that I may never find it at all.
The ‘shortcut to…‘ signs are a welcome sight. I’m tired by this point and I just want to get my ligonberry drink, try to pass by the cinnamon rolls, and get the hell out of there. But the shortcut signs are a trap. You see, once I’ve finished choosing ten more awesomely inexpensive picture frames I don’t need, I’ll take that shortcut to lighting… which leads to checkout. So I walk… ’round past the lamps and by the chandeliers and here I am… at… picture frames. What the fuck? I may actually be in an endless loop. I may die here.
I’ll consider giving up and heading for that emergency exit by the MASKROS (yes, that’s a real thing), but I’ve come so far. I don’t want to abandon my ridiculously-difficult-to-control shopping cart [that should come equipped with GPS].
This is all very strange to me because I’m an excellent navigator. I have a keen sense of direction… I always find my way. But at IKEA? I have no idea what the hell happens there. It’s like you’ve been sucked into a different realm. But I know everyone can’t be as confused as I am… so I look around until I see someone who looks like he knows where he’s going. And I follow. Not in a creepy stalker-ish way. Just in a get-me-the-fuck-out-of-FISKBO-hell way. [Yes, also a real thing. FISKBO, I mean… not hell. I think.]
And then it happens. I can see the warehouse… and I turn the corner and I can see the checkout lines. They are horrifically long, but I don’t even care. I just want to pay for my BATTMÖN, get that ligonberry drink and… fuck it… get some cinnamon rolls (and maybe even a fro-yo)… and go home.