IKEA Invasion

They're here! image from www.ikea.com

It may be several hundred years since the Vikings terrorised England's shores but their descendants are invading homes all over the world through a wide range of furniture at low prices. They may have done with lightning raids for goats, girls and gold, burning and decapitating anything left behind, but their modern day methods are still leaving scars.

Browsing on line or in their stores is the bait - customers are shown the possibilities of what their homes could look like with clever arrangements and accessorising but it doesn't take long with a measuring tape to realise that a few (many) adjustments will have to be made to achieve a similar look in your own space. Compromises are optimistically made, multiple alternatives are considered until customers all over the store are collapsing on conveniently placed chairs, beds or sofas with the dizziness of too many choices and decisions.

This is just the beginning.  Once the customer has fought their way through the maze of choice they make their purchases online (which is considered a different store to any physical stores in the UK which means they could be out of stock of some items for indeterminate periods of time which forces customers back to another store to order the mattress required for the bed frame already purchased and takes them back to stage one of the attack.) or instore. Of course the name of the product means nothing during the ordering process. A nine digit number, which has in  its mysterious code the size, colour and style of the item being ordered, is the only link between the victim and what they want. One digit error could result in a fluffy purple monster chair being delivered instead of the black, faux leather office chair desired. This level of stress for non number people could easily produce that stress induced stoke the doctor has been warning of.

So much.  image from www.ikea.com

The next stage of the attack are the little things priced so cheaply that they are thrown nonchalantly into the trolley, a few steps further however unveils a similar but better product so an exchange is made without the customer being fully cognisant that the price difference is substantial. Every time this occurs the final total is increased so that the customer - remembering only the low prices of the original items spotted - walks merrily to the checkout unaware of the explosive total waiting for them on the register display. They will either die from embarrassment as they ask for several non essential items to be removed from their hoard or starve to death because they have to use the next month's grocery money to pay for all the clever, matching bits and pieces.  This is especially dangerous for people with a psychotic need for everything to match, even if the object is going to be stored out of sight. A health warning should be listed on a sign at the foot of every entry escalator and beside every colour coordinated display.

If the customer has survived all of these hazards they will relax at home happily waiting for their furniture to be delivered.  They shake off the inconvenience of the email letting them know that the confirmed delivery date is actually a day or week later than the proposed date at time of payment. They recheck their order several times to ensure that the bedside table were ordered in the same colour as the bed frame then suddenly realise that an item they thought had been ordered was missing from their receipt. They call the store, wait for 15 mins to speak to several electronic menus before being put through to someone who is able to inform them that their "delivery has left the warehouse but they would be happy to arrange another delivery for 35 pound (for a 5 pound object) or you could visit our store at your convenience". Considering the advanced methods of sellware it may just be cheaper to have it delivered.

3/4 tonne of flat pack furniture.

Didn't think we'd ordered a trapeze.

D-day finally comes as the outsourced panel van reverses up the driveway, family members brace themselves for the homeland attack. The delivery boys are polite and nod happily as each package is checked and directed to the appropriate room. They stomp in and out until the van is empty.  A feed back form is offered and filled and the checklist of contents signed off. Too late you discover that the heaviest packages have been placed in the wrong rooms on the wrong floor. The customer is left frustrated as they recall the lovely things they wrote on the feedback form. They look around at the reality of countless cardboard boxes that require hours of picture clue decoding and screwing. The dangers of impatient grunts and sighs tingle in the air.

Just one more set of drawers before bed - please.

Make my bed?  I can do what I want!

Jobs are allocated. 1- build all the furniture.  2- classify the jumble of bits in the hidden bag and hold things, pass things on demand. 3- cut up the cardboard boxes and plastic so they fit into the recycle bin and be ready to assist if six hands are required at anytime (immediately). 4-look busy supplying sustenance and praise and be ready to relieve 2 or 3 at any time.  The insanity is heightened by the invaders placing essential equipment into unlabeled boxes or bags inside the packaging in such a way that they can't be seen. The stress of then looking through the mound of rubbish to find the missing screw or handle brings many families to divorce. Another weapon implanted into the home is when some objects are finished there isn't a single screw or plug left over - with other pieces there are, so the customer has to choose between thinking that they have missed something and the chair will collapse at some stage in the future or that the company has been generous this time. The chair becomes a booby trap forever more. This is psychological warfare at its finest.

No excuse for a floordrobe now

And so this blog is written from a chair and desk instead of the floor. The airbed has been deflated, bagged and stored for when more than the spare room is needed for guests. The coat hangers and draw tidies have been bought and the suitcases removed. This time we survived the battle and rest on the spoils.

The rest can wait.

 Reading Now:
 The Secret Listeners by Sinclair McKay Aurum 2012 - companion to The secret Life of Bletchley Park.
"...a wren was upbraided by her superiors for having failed to keep a constant record of a stream of messages exchanged that night.  Her matter of fact excuse was that she kept on having to run outside to 'swat away incendiaries' with a bat; ..." p4