Forgive the breathlessness of this post but I am basically having a flashback here and I am committing it to paper, well, pixel as I go!
A lovely friend has just posted, quite innocently about going to IKEA and even the mere thought of an IKEA trip is enough to leave my palms slick with nerves.
IKEA is unique amongst shops in that they won't let you leave until they are ready for you to leave. I know that supermarkets lay their goods out tantalisingly and that they employ psychologists to work out where the most lucrative place for the wasabi peas is, but IKEA actually hides the door from you and makes you traverse a flipping labyrinth of odd, lifeless rooms. It's like being trapped in the art department for the Truman Show. Even now as I type I am getting nervous, I have got up to check the door twice, lest I get up in a minute to find brickwork behind it. There are arrows of course but these seem to have been laid almost at random.
Every time I am in there I am reminded of the finale of the Nicholas Lyndhurst vehicle 'Goodnight Sweetheart'. If you remember the show (if?!) then you'll know that the central character, Gary, finds a portal to wartime London down an alley while on his lunch break. I know what you're thinking; "that old chestnut!" The show pottered along in this fashion for longer than the actual war and then, in the finale, Gary found that he was trapped in the past. His attempts to get through his portal were met with disappointment.
This is how I feel every time I step across the threshold of IKEA. I look for the door so that I know I can leave in an emergency but the door's not there! IKEA seems to be magically sealed off and the portal will only reveal itself to those who are carrying an appropriate number of floating shelves or decorative storage boxes. I try to brave but there is a voice at the back of my mind saying "this is it! This is the time that you'll be trapped. There'll be no door and you'll have to live in the war for the rest of your life!"
There are things about B&Q that I don't like, but at least I'm allowed to leave when I want and I'm not forced into Stockholm Syndrome with the staff.
T
A lovely friend has just posted, quite innocently about going to IKEA and even the mere thought of an IKEA trip is enough to leave my palms slick with nerves.
IKEA is unique amongst shops in that they won't let you leave until they are ready for you to leave. I know that supermarkets lay their goods out tantalisingly and that they employ psychologists to work out where the most lucrative place for the wasabi peas is, but IKEA actually hides the door from you and makes you traverse a flipping labyrinth of odd, lifeless rooms. It's like being trapped in the art department for the Truman Show. Even now as I type I am getting nervous, I have got up to check the door twice, lest I get up in a minute to find brickwork behind it. There are arrows of course but these seem to have been laid almost at random.
Every time I am in there I am reminded of the finale of the Nicholas Lyndhurst vehicle 'Goodnight Sweetheart'. If you remember the show (if?!) then you'll know that the central character, Gary, finds a portal to wartime London down an alley while on his lunch break. I know what you're thinking; "that old chestnut!" The show pottered along in this fashion for longer than the actual war and then, in the finale, Gary found that he was trapped in the past. His attempts to get through his portal were met with disappointment.
This is how I feel every time I step across the threshold of IKEA. I look for the door so that I know I can leave in an emergency but the door's not there! IKEA seems to be magically sealed off and the portal will only reveal itself to those who are carrying an appropriate number of floating shelves or decorative storage boxes. I try to brave but there is a voice at the back of my mind saying "this is it! This is the time that you'll be trapped. There'll be no door and you'll have to live in the war for the rest of your life!"
There are things about B&Q that I don't like, but at least I'm allowed to leave when I want and I'm not forced into Stockholm Syndrome with the staff.
T
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