London Calling…

So I went to Ikea for the first time yesterday. Oh yes. You see, I had this marvellous theory on buying furniture. I thought that it would be, if not easy, then at least a relatively straightforward exercise. One goes to a furniture store, one looks at the furniture on display, measures it, debates a little with any accompanying parties, and then orders it to be delivered on a particular date to a particular address. Hah.

Like many huge and glaring misconceptions it all began with a single completely inaccurate assumption. This assumption was that Ikea was based on the same principle as for example Argos, just on a much larger scale, and would therefore work approximately the same way. Obtain catalogue number of item, order item for collection or delivery, pay, and receive item. To be entirely honest, I presumed I could have just done it all on the internet, the only reason I intended to go to the store at all was because with such a major purchase as a couch or bed I wanted to physically see the thing I was buying. Essentially I assumed I was being overly cautious by not just ordering online. Oh the slightly manic laughter as I look at this thought retrospectively.

The Ikea display store is like what a giant warehouse would look like if you converted it into a labyrinth whose walls and passageways were constructed entirely of household furnishings. Essentially that’s exactly what it is, in fact. In a way this is ingenious, it forces you to look at every piece of crap in the entire place before getting to the end. In another, more relevant way, it is frustrating, annoying, and engenders a passionate hatred of slow-walking people with giant carts that I find it hard to describe in words. When we finally reached the end of the labyrinth (which geographically is about 2 minutes from the start, we just didn’t figure that out until later) we were dehydrated, irritated, and generally just glad the experience was over. On our travels we had seen a couch, bed and mattress that I was happy to purchase. I queued for the information desk, thankful that the ordeal must be almost at an end.

Alas, it was not to be. Upon making some enquiries I discovered you cannot order online, because they do not deliver online orders. (What?!?) Which meant that I would have to order right then. Ok, not ideal, but acceptable, where can I find a catalogue to get the numbers from? There aren’t any. Because as we walked through the giant furniture maze we were supposed to have noted down the article numbers of the items in question so that we could pay for them at the checkout. Back to the labyrinth, where we spend about 10 minutes actually locating the article numbers of anything, as for some reason instead of being printed in a bold font and labelled “Article Number, pay attention to this!” they are printed on the reverse of the price tag, in a font small enough as to be almost unreadable, and without a descriptor of any kind.

We subsequently discovered that this is probably due to the following fact. What they _tell_ you to do is write down the numbers and then pay. What you are _actually_ supposed to do, is find one of the rare and elusive employees on the display floor, tell them what you want, confirm when they show you the image on-screen that yes, you are not a moron, that is the thing, then specify what colour, size etc you would like it in, because the all-important article number written on the display item merely signifies precisely that item, ie. colour and size also. So to order say, a full-size bed frame in black, when the display item is a queen size version in pine is impossible to do without the assistance of a furniture monkey, or as they prefer to be called, ikea employee.

One part of the exchange went thusly:

Me: …and I would like this couch.

FM: That item is self-serve

Me: Wait, I can’t get it delivered?

FM: Oh no, you can get it delivered, you just have to bring it down to the checkout.

Me: You mean physically bring it? But… it’s a couch…

FM: Yeah, you need to load it onto a cart and bring it down to the checkout, and pay for it, then they can deliver it.

Me: There is no other way of doing this? Can’t I pay someone to bring it down?

FM: No, sorry. So you don’t want the couch ma’am?

Me: Oh no, I want it. I’m just horrified.

FM: Oh, we’re actually pulling that item ourselves at the moment.

Me: So I don’t have to bring it down?

FM: No.

Me: Great.

The last part obviously rendering that entire minute of shock and awe entirely pointless, but on the plus side, I didn’t have to carry a couch. When I finally managed to get my official “already talked to a monkey” form, and queue and pay for all this, there was then an entirely separate queue for organising and paying for the delivery of all my crap. By the time we left I felt like Persephone escaping Hades, and was afraid to look behind me lest I somehow be sucked back in, black hole style.

I have never been so drained of life energy by a retail experience.

This entry was posted on Monday, March 24th, 2008 at 9:10 pm and is filed under Rant, New York Update. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.