Retail Hell

I was as brave as a lion last Sunday.  Unaccompanied, and unaided, I took on the most difficult shop ever.
I refer, of course, to Ikea.
The last time I was in there, His Nibs was with me.  We went to buy a desk and chair, and the only reason we didn’t break up during the visit is that I kept feeding him cheap hot dogs when he started to lose his head.

I was visiting my friend Julianne on Sunday, and had a lovely time, I hadn’t seen her for ages and as usual had loads to say.  Julianne even managed to get a word in sometimes.  She also kindly provided chocolate cake, and her two children, who are lovely, to be admired and petted.

On my way home down the M50,  I suddenly thought that I might go to Ikea. 

I had a hankering for a scarf hanger.   I know it wasn’t going to make my life any better, but I like the idea of having an actual place to keep my scarves.  Having failed to find one in Dublin city centre, I had to accept that Ikea is the only place that stocks them.
His Nibs thinks a person who has a hankering for a scarf hanger might need to see a doctor, but of course he would think that.  He thinks the best place to keep any sort of garment is on the floor.  One way or the other, he completely refused to go back to the seventh circle of hell that is Ikea. 
So I decided maybe I should just go by myself and get it over with.

I had a very good day last Sunday.  I’d slept late, and His Nibs had brought me coffee in bed before I’d hauled myself out.  I always think a day when you get a coffee in bed in the morning has to be a good day.

On the way to Julianne’s, my sat nav actually co-operated for once and brought me straight to her door, despite the fact that when I put in her address it had insisted that no such place existed, and that it would just bring me to the next best thing.  I had a carefully made cd with my favourite songs on it, and all was well. 

All of this, and my happy visit, had the unfortunate effect of putting me in a very good mood, and I was feeling calm and happy and totally non grumpy.  If there was ever a time to take on Ikea, that was it. I thought that as I was in such a good mood that it would probably be fine.

I’m so moronic.

I went in the door, without going upstairs to the showroom.  Of course, I immediately got distracted by some candles, which went into my gigantic yellow bag.

I shook myself.  No, I decided, I’m not falling for this nonsense. I put the candles back, found some wooden hangers and assumed the scarf hangers would be nearby.  I spied a staff member, and asked him where I could find the desired item. 

His response struck fear into my heart. 

“They’re upstairs in the showroom” he told me “Bedroom department”.

The fecking showroom.  I hate it up there.  I go in there and just wander about, and I can’t find anything. 

I had to ask for directions to the bedroom department, and I was told it was through the “gap in the wall”.

The gap in the wall?  What is this, I wondered?  Narnia?  Alice in Wonderland?  Surely a gap in the wall is a doorway?  It’s hard enough to get from A to B in Ikea without these mysterious directions.

After a quick stop in a studio flat designed for a person obsessed with colourful bowls, I got to the bedroom department and asked for further directions to the hangers, whereupon the friendly boy told me that they were almost out, but there might be some in a dump bin about four miles away.  There’d better be, I thought.

“Turn right here, down to wardrobes, turn left, and there’ll be a basket on your right.”

Down to wardrobes then turn left?  What nonsense is this?  Wardrobes go on for about a mile and a half.  Where exactly do I turn left? 
I saw two of the longed for hangers in one of the wardrobes, but sadly they were connected to the bar by cable ties.  Display models, apparently.  Display model hangers – now in all honesty – how can anyone love this shop?

I found them eventually.  Not from following the directions I was given, but because I walked around the whole fecking place for so long that I passed everything twice.  I got very excited, and bought four.  Even though I only needed two, for myself and my mother.

Then I started trying to find my way back downstairs.  I hate the way people always say that it’s easy, that there’s arrows on the floor to follow.  Yes, there is, but why do they go around and around in circles?

When I eventually got back downstairs I lost the head altogether, as I’d been afraid I would. 

I bought half a dozen shot glasses, telling myself they’d be handy if we ever drink the bottle of honey rum we bought in the Canaries two years ago.

His Nibs is a teetotaller, and I’ve never drank shots in my life without having to have my hair held back before much time has passed, or going bonkers and trying to wreck the place.

Obviously I bought a pack of about nine million tea lights.  And a number of glass discs for holding candles. Which once I got home I realised are actually glass jam jar lids, but because they were cheap, I bought loads of them.  

I got a set of boxes, which apparently keep your drawers tidy.  They don’t fit in my drawers.  

Two glass carafes, which I thought might make red wine look classy, if I suddenly start giving it a chance to breathe.  Why two, I don’t know.  And it’s more likely to look like Ribena than look classy in a €1.60 carafe.  But I was in the grip of a madness, obviously.

I couldn’t choose between the regular and the more festive napkin holder, so I bought both.  The squares of kitchen towel we use in the place of napkins should be lovely in those.

What is wrong with me?  Why couldn’t I just walk in, buy what I wanted, and leave?  I really REALLY wanted to be the person who didn’t fall for their trickery, but I’ve failed.

I feel only guilt and shame.  And slight pride that I own a napkin holder.