Question: Has anyone, ever, in the history of Ikea gotten away without spending at least two hundred dollars? I saw a young-ish couple today walk out with a plastic cutting board. I can only assume that they have an entire kitchen suite scheduled for delivery.
Whoever engineered the three level rat maze to funnel patrons past each and every display, toward the bottom floor warehouse, through the check stand, straight into the reward of a one dollar meatball combo must have been either a genius or a sociopath. I find the trap and confuse technique causes an over release of serotonin in the brain, inevitably leaving you in a slightly depressive fog as you wheel your cart toward the parking lot. And for the 24 hours to follow.
And this, I suppose, is for me the moment of truth. When I realize that at some point I’ll have to explain to my husband all of this merchandise I never knew I needed, but suddenly realized I couldn’t live without. I’ve been known to claim that the air conditioning ducts must be filled with an unreasonable sort of gas that negates logic and rationality (my husband would argue that this gas for me is called oxygen, as I spend most of my life in this state. Happily, I might add).
But regardless of what you intended to buy and what actually ends up populating your home space, the point is that you know what you are walking into even before you make the 30 minute drive into the middle of nowhere. You know that it’s going to give you a headache, hurt your feet, incapacitate your checkbook, and leave you reeling. Yet, much like the pain of childbirth, time seems to veil our memory of the last trip, and the trip before that. The reasonable prices and northern European sensibility entice you to give it “just one more shot”. And so I always do.
Until next time, my double-dealing friend.