IKEA - the future?

Nice to be back.

Today was my IKEA initiation.  Like they say at the best training events, "What did you come expecting?"  I'd heard about the hotdogs (50p).   In fact, in terms of food, the value of IKEA's all-in breakfast was so renowned that Coventry Jesus Centre stopped offering theirs.  Drop-In service users had defected to the nearby Store.   I'd heard how, "You can't get out...  You just keep going round and round."  But I was dubious.  And I hoped to be mildly impressed by Scandinavian design.  

Mary and I were reasonably focussed.  We needed to get a 80" bookcase to match the one we bought second-hand last week at British Heart Foundation.  And we needed to try out some sofa-beds.  

"It opens at 10am," Mary offered.  Well, civilised.  Time to go to the gym, have some breakfast and a bath with no problem.  The Sheffield store is new, and there are road signs as you approach.  Unfortunately, not at the vital final right turn.  "No, no, not here - further up, by the flags," Mary directed.  That is, misdirected. 

Mary had done her homework.  "Section 3," she announced.  We found it on the first floor- and the sofa beds.  The names confound.  Model 'Lycksele', with Lövås, Murbo or Håvet mattress, and Ebarp, Vallarum or Ransta cover.   Rolls off the tongue?  No?  Maybe a Gräsbo or Vansta cover, then, available on the other model?   Once we'd found information sheets, we could tick what we thought best.  "Just show them it at the Check-out," I resigned.  Like ordering at at an Italian restaurant; pollo, funghi, cacio.

Two sections on.  Wey-hey: 'Billy' the bookcase!  Are we in Legoland?  "Hmm," muttered Mary.  "The spare shelves are £12 each.  I thought they were £7, from the website."  More ticking of information sheets.

That's it, then.  An hour or so usefully gone, and we're on our way out, heading for the Picking section and Check-out.  But not so straightforward.  We consult the information board - for all the world like a London Tube Line map.  "We go out through the Family and Children's Rooms," Mary points out.  We're temporarily distracted.  I by the luggage - I've lost my best flight holdall, and Mary by searching for a bedside lamp that clips on the headboard.  A voice breaks over the muzak, announcing that there will shortly be fire alarm tests, and please don't worry.  I hear none, and do.

Hittarp/Metod with Utrusta

Back on the ground floor, we head for Section 23, Picking and Check-out.  Mary remembers she wanted to see some kitchen shelves, and I wanted to look at corner units.  Back to the first floor again.  We wind round the displays, eyes fixed down on the arrow gobos from the suspended projectors.  I fantasise about turning some round so customers are condemned to eternal wandering.  Mary spots a circular rug.  "I've been looking for one of these, and it's reduced," she smiles.  The computer won't process the order.  I walk away.  Mary's more patient.  The assistant assures us it will be ready for collection.

"Good afternoon, customers... " the fire alarm voice intones again.  It's well past 12 already.   "This is worse than Blenheim Palace maze," I mutter.  Fourteen stations of the Cross, and 23 Sections in IKEA.  We gather more information sheets on the kitchenware.  "How does so much stuff get designed and produced?"  My words fade into the air.  Mary is investigating plastic yucca plants.  Definitely time to head for Check-out.   

In the Picking bay, I try to heave a 'Billy' pack from the rack.  Thirty kilograms I can usually manage, but not this.  And anyway, 80" is too long to fit in the car.  We negotiate the pick-and-deliver, adding £35 to the bill.    Two ladies we'd seen earlier stand in the queue with a dismembered 'Lycksele'.  The Check-out lady helpfully directs us to the Collection point where we'll find the rug.  A young couple are struggling to get two trolleys-worth of boxes into the back of their Audi.   As we walk to our car, the guy, defeated, heads for the Info desk and the order-and-deliver option.
Tomorrow - 'Billy' cömes.