omg I hate ikea!

IKEA. Evil, clever IKEA. That sleek, exotic discount Scandinavian monstrosity that promises so much but is really just an insidious trap aimed to give you acute anxiety.

You tell yourself as you’re driving around IKEA’s carpark that you know what you want and you’re not one of those who’s sucked into buying a heap of useless shit. You’ll be quick; you cut through shortcuts walking against the grain, the giant arrows screaming at you “ this is not the IKEA WAY!”

You find your bookshelf, take note of its number and hurry to the warehouse via the marketplace, of course, because there’s no easy way out of this maze. You up the pace stopping only occasionally because yep, try as you might some useless shit did just catch your eye.

You continue on with your race to the warehouse zigzagging through the bathrooms and lighting and the fake plant section. You load up your trolley with your flat pack and then comes checkout. You better hope you resisted the urge to pile your trolley because God forbid they won’t give you a bag unless you give them ownership of your trust fund.

You exit the building and then it hits you, there’s a reason you tried to park close to the exit. You are trapped by small yellow poles, like exclamation marks at the end of HA! If you’re not yet experiencing angina then just wait until you get home – 40 individual pieces, bags of allen keys and screws, and manuals as thick as your fist spread out in front of you.

A few hours later and the last piece is in place when you realise there are two parts to this bookshelf and the second is still sitting with his tribe of brothers and sisters back at the cold, cold warehouse.

Do you go back? Well of course you do, the bookshelf must be finished, it only cost you $100 and you’ve decided that the construction of the second part is going to play out like* this while wearing this. (oh, and let’s forget about the allen keys, these are our tools of choice.)


Image by Erika Lust