Ikea the Experience

Ikea! You’ve heard about it, maybe even gone there. But do you really know the true full-fledged experience of Ikea? In France, Ikea is the place to buy furniture and even more. France does not have myriad shops with myriad price ranges like the US. No, you either buy the sleek Italian shelves for €3000 or the €200 unit from Ikea. Why isn’t there a store like Pottery Barn or even something like a JC Penny or Sears maybe even a Pier 1 Imports? I don’t know.

Ikea is its own little world here. My husband’s eye twitches merely from the word “Ikea.” People line up to go in all week long. They have a children play area where you can leave your kids for a maximum of one hour. (No one has ever done Ikea in one hour! Please!) They have their own restaurant. It is a half-day experience. You don’t just pop into Ikea like you would Target. It is a dizzying experience.

Well, one morning we went to find a desk or something. After passing every elaborate floor display with every concoction possible of a kitchen or a bathroom or a study, we decided to have lunch. It was perfect lunch time for the children, 11:30am. By noon, the restaurant would be packed to the gills. One thing I noticed right away is the cafeteria furniture is not child friendly. All the chairs have these huge holes in the back, just perfect for a child to fall out of if he or she should choose to lean back.

There are some tables with chairs that have real backs and that day while my children played at the cafeteria playground and my husband went to the self-serve food line, I chose our table. It’s true, I could’ve chosen any table that had chairs with backs, but, I needed a good view of my children as well and thus, I chose a long table that could seat up to 8 people near the window. There was a bag on the chair nearest the window so I figured someone was going to sit there. I know people like to have their space, so I chose the four chairs at the other end of the table thinking this was respectful. I guess I could’ve chosen a table that had no seats already “reserved” but I didn’t. Soon enough, an older man arrived with his trays (yes, he had more than one). He looked at me and then said, “Didn’t you see my things here?”

“Yes, yes,” I replied waiting to see what the anxiety was about.

“You have the whole restaurant to choose from. Why are you sitting here? I chose this table.” He made a grand sweeping gesture to emphasize the vast emptiness surrounding us, all the choices I could have made and failed at making.

The restaurant at this point was already filling up as I glanced around nervously wondering whether I should give in and find another table or not.

He sat right in front of me and said, “Are you going to be comfortable eating with me sitting in front of you like this?” He smiled but it was a sarcastic one.

“I’m fine here,” I said realizing he was prompting me to tell him he was right, it was not comfortable and I would find another table. “This is fine,” I repeated, “You don’t think it’s okay?”

“You think this is okay? You think this is okay?” he said in a scary Robert DeNiro way, nodding his head with a creepy grin that promised more trouble. “I chose this table. Why did you choose it when you have the whole restaurant?” he asked again.

“Look,” I said trying to stay calm and collected. “The other chairs have holes in the back. I needed to find these chairs for my children.”

He looked around the room and then said, “Well, other children seem to be sitting in those chairs. But, I guess your children are handicapped or something. Your children can’t sit in those chairs. But other people’s children can.”

“Listen to me again,” I said getting bitchy. I leaned over the table, “Are you listening?”

He nodded his head.

“I want my children to sit in these chairs. They will fall out of the other ones,” I said.

He ranted again about how my children were special since the other ones seemed to be doing fine in the other chairs. Just then his wife arrived, between the two of them; they had four trays and took up a lot of space. I guess they planned on eating there the whole day. Maybe it was some special afternoon treat…take the old wife to Ikea Cafeteria.

By then the cafeteria was completely full and noisy. Should I have gotten up and left? If I found another table as he had wanted, some other family would have come to his table at some point. It was just a matter of time.

My husband arrived and I said to him, “That man is upset we’re sitting here. He won’t leave me alone. It’s becoming harassment!”

“Excuse me,” said my husband smiling and leaning over to talk to the man. “Is there a problem with my wife?”

The man explained how I chose his table when I could have chosen another one. My husband turned to me, “Why did you choose this table? Why didn’t you choose another one?”

Feeling upset my husband wasn’t taking my side, I explained for the umpteenth time my chair complex which began to sound silly. The man defended his side once again noting all the children sitting in chairs with big holes in the back. Then he added that I had called him deaf! Obviously, when I had asked him, “Are you listening?” he had somehow thought I was alleging he was hard of hearing.

My husband said to me, “Why didn’t you choose another table? Why are you even trying to deal with this man? Can’t you see he’s upset?”

Clearly, my husband was right. Why hadn’t I left and found another table? I can’t tell you that reason. It was like this inner struggle. Do I leave because this man wants me to leave? Or do I stay because I have the right to sit here too? I wasn’t thinking, “It’s not worth dealing with this asshole, I’ll find another table.” I felt glued to my seat by principle alone. Plus, it was way too crowded now to find a table for four people. So we stayed. And, as I’m sure you can guess, the bastard was right. Eating our lunch was very uncomfortable indeed.

As we left, my husband said, “I don’t understand how I always get involved in your situations. How do you get yourself in those situations? You should’ve said something sarcastic and gone somewhere else! I don’t understand you sometimes,” he shook his head in annoyance.

I had no response and on the drive home, my husband was annoyed because Ikea in itself is annoying. You pick up your stuff, load your car, tie your trunk down, etc. So, he went on a mini-rampage, a pee-in-your-pantsingly funny stitch. (I saw this term on a London billboard about a show, "pee-in-your-pantsingly funny”) Back to my husband, he began ranting in a loud voice, “Ikea! Ikea! We all love Ikea!,” he bellowed out the window to no one in particular as we went around the huge round-about packed with cars leaving Ikea. “Let’s all go to Ikea!”, he continued.

I watched him, knowing it would be a couple minutes of hilarious improv for me to enjoy. “Everyone thinks Ikea is soooo great! But, it’s the day that never ends. First you go to Ikea. You’re there forever to find your thing, pick it up, and take it home. You think it ends when you pick up your furniture? No! It doesn’t end there. No! Cuz then, you have to put all the crap shit together and you know that is going to take all night. And, there’s always a missing piece so you have to come back for that little tiny crap fuck shit shove up your ass piece.”

I folded over in laughter.

“Then,” he continued, “you put together their crap piece of furniture and it’s still not over. No. Because now you have a million boxes that you have to get rid of and dismount and recycle. Ikea is just never-ending…They’re up in your fucking ass!,” he said through clenched teeth and slapping his ass for a dramatic effect. “They must be the worst company out there for the environment.” But he wasn’t finished just yet. “Oh, I have an idea. Let’s put this little tiny fuck shit screw in a little plastic bag. And let’s put this shelf in a box, and this shelf in another box, and this piece in a big mama fuck carton too! Oh, we are Ikea. We looooove the environment. Ikea! Hate Ikea! That's the last time we're going there! We're not going again. Shit fuck!”

Hysterical laughter came out of me. “That was excellent. I wish I had that on video. That is great! The best! I love it!”

“God!”, he said sweeping a mesh of hair out of his eyes and hitting the wheel of his car several times for the grand finale. “Ahhhhhhh!”

And that is Ikea the Experience.