Ikea: the last landmass to be conquered by mankind
Last week my friend
Kate and I got lost in Ikea. We had managed to traverse the highlands of
bedroom interiors and had even scaled the heights of the kitchen units section
with great success. Suddenly we found ourselves in deluxe bathrooms and panic
struck. We had meandered off the designated trail and found ourselves in an
unfamiliar world of bidets and Swedish shower heads. With the help of the GPS
on my phone, we eventually made our way back to the designated trail, clothes
torn, hungry and bodies trembling. They say that Antarctica was the last great
land mass to be conquered by man. Last year we celebrated the achievements of
Roald Amundsen and Captain Scott. These were indeed great men but what about
the first man to conquer Ikea? Why do we not celebrate this arguably more
impressive feat? Why do people not say they are walking the “Ikea Trail” for
charity? I would happily give money to someone who set themselves such a grave
challenge. For too long these brave Ikea adventurers have been overlooked. Having
seen the scale of the challenge, I will now make it my life’s task to raise
awareness of the perils of Ikea and to highlight the magnificent achievements
of those who have conquered her successfully.
Ikea, the world’s
largest furniture retailer, has one store in Ireland. Its lack of ubiquity is
compensated for by the sheer size of the Ballymun premises. To call it a shop
is like calling Australia an island. Sure, Australia is an island but the term
doesn’t really express the enormity of the experience. Equally, I’d rather call
Ikea a “destination” or a “resort” rather than a shop. I have never heard
anybody say they are going to “pop into” Ikea, because that is impossible. The resort
is designed in a way which does not allow for “popping into”. Rather, the customer
must set aside vast tracts of time in order to navigate around the carefully
laid out maze which one has no choice but to tackle, just in order to find the
exit. This maze is known to Ikea staff as the “Long and Natural Path”. This
somewhat celestial name suggests white light and the promise of eternal life but
alas, that was not the case in my terrifying experience. The maze takes you
through every conceivable aspect of the home, with the intention of luring you
into buying as much as possible. Kate and I had heard about this maze before we
arrived and had strong intentions of not allowing ourselves to be sucked into
the beautiful displays and show rooms. No! We would be steadfast in our pursuit
of three items: a bed, a sieve and a couch for my new flat. This was the list
and nothing would steer us off our course. Oh dear.
522 million people
visited an Ikea store in 2011. With this number of customers, the company
clearly has its business model very well oiled. One can tell this immediately
on entering its unforgivably yellow gates. As we approached the entrance to the
maze on the first floor, I began to sweat. I could see the crowds. I felt like
I was entering Jurassic Park: excited but nervous that I might die. We followed
the trail of the maze, being careful to keep with the crowds. We knew if we
strayed off that we may never get back on the trail again. Once we arrived at
the Greater Couches Area, we had begun to loosen up. This isn’t so bad. We can
do this. Our confidence had built. We tried some couches for comfort and we
even took a note of the reference number of the one I wanted. Easy. By the time
we got to the Kitchenware Province we were like old hands, regularly separating
from each other and going off-piste into the Swedish wilderness. Our initial
intention of sticking to our concise three-point shopping list had been
overruled as we began to snatch at items which seemed to be such a bargain that
it would be “a shame” not to use the trip to pick them up. A Skoghall laundry basket for €5.07, yes! A
Vaggis notice board for €3.95, have to have it! Soon we were throwing things in
the trolley whose actual function was unknown, but they just looked so shiny.
And, sure, it’s a bargain, forgetting that all these little bargains add up to
a bill so large that a puffin would be proud to call one its own. At one point I
saw Kate scrambling in a bargain basket for the last two-pack of toilet
brushes. “Kate, you don’t need toilet brushes”. “I have to have them, they’re
so cheap. The opportunity is too magnificent”, she cried. I tackled her to the
floor, and began tearing her grip from the beautiful red toilet brush. “Kate,
you have to let it go! I know it’s hard but we must be strong!” Her talons
loosened and I lifted her shaking body away from the Toilet Accessories Region.
I carried her in my arms. She mumbled something inaudible. “Yes, we are lost,
but we will find our way out. Trust me”, I said as I carried her through the
undergrowth of endless shower curtains and bathroom storage units. She was a
broken woman. Ikea had defeated her but I had to be strong. One of us had to be
strong. Otherwise all would be lost. I didn’t want to have to camp and sunset
was fast approaching as we saw the millions of show lights slowly being extinguished
on the horizon.
Happily my GPS came to
our rescue and after foraging for leftovers in a bin, we eventually stumbled
across an Ikea Park Ranger who happened to be doing one last sweep of the
territory before locking the gates. A foil towel was wrapped around Kate. We
had survived. Sure, we had been through something I never want my children to
experience but we had survived. And we even had the couch, sieve and bed we came
in for.
© Simon Tierney 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment