IKEA Hell

I hate going to IKEA. Love their products, but the way they design their stores as #(@&*$ time sucks really chafes me. I intended to be there for two hours on Sunday–it ended up being FOUR! What the (@#$ are these Swedish fish thinking?!

Okay, so to tell the whole story, we’re renovating the house, which of course, means getting new sofas. Plural. And I get dragged along because what we agreed to on the website is never what we leave with; usually because you can’t put my fat ass in these couches until I get there. My body can tell the difference between comfy and not comfy.

So I accept my lot in life and drag the family to IKEA. We leave at 10 am, figuring that we can beat the crowds, get our couches, and get out of there before everyone else wakes up. I plan two hours because in any other #*#&@($ store in America it would take one–I’m more realistic after my umpteenth trip to this store. Plus, as my daughter pointed out, I hate going shopping for anything that’s not for me (directly) or food (and only because I’m being nice).

The inheritors of Clan Johnston coming with reinforcements.

Of course, we choose a different style of couch, but then we have to make sure to get it in the right color. The fact that they don’t have the mattress for the sleeper bed in stock is less of a concern. This takes an hour to determine, because after all, this is my wife who’s trying to create shalom ha’bayit and sofas have to balance with her vision. So we work with the very nice Penny who works there to get this sorted out… and this takes an full *#&@$(% hour.

Now we’re not rookies at this store, so we know how to skip the remaining showrooms, jump downstairs, and take the shortcuts to get to the warehouse part to actually pick up our stuff. Apparently, there’s a tag that says, “Ask a co-worker for help finding this item.” What that means is that “it’s not in the part of the warehouse YOU can get it, we have to get it for you.” So I have to ask for help (which as a male, I find very difficult), get an order slip, and then drive around to the side of the store and have them deliver it. This has never happened before.

So with the stuff we can get, it turns out our little Prius can only hold one of the two pallets of crap we’re carrying. So after hour three, and several rounds of family negotiation, we finally agree to let Mom stay with the other pallet, get Asher in the front seat, and Eliza agreed to wiggle underneath the back seats, under the huge amount of cardboard boxes. She thought it was freaking amazing; I was disturbed, but not worried that she’d get crushed–the seats would hold the load.

I get the kids home, unload the stuff, and then they get to watch TV while I drive back to get Mom, fill up the second pallet, and go get our remaining stuff from the side of the store. Apparently, this happened with a LOT of people, and we end up waiting another HOUR. So after four hours of IKEA Hell, I’m wiped, and the wife just sends me upstairs to play Empire Deluxe for two hours. I make the mistake of coming downstairs and my wife decides we’re all relaxed enough to actually reorganize the living room, which was the whole point of this expedition!

So instead of two hours of shopping and five hours of reorganizing, we get four hours of shopping and three hours of moving. Which means I get to cut into my vacation time to move @($*(@ books. Thanks, IKEA.

Do you hate going to IKEA? Do you have the same loathing experience as I? Or is a party in a store? Let me know in the comments below!