Abigail M. Schilling

I am in the middle of a post about how IKEA is Socialist. This post is taking lots of research (read: trips to IKEA and a sampling of all products) and lots of time and energy (read: our new rug is so hot that I don't have time to write). However, there was a recent wrinkle in my research that deserves its own blog post.

It started out as Your Average IKEA Visit. Ride the escalator, wow over the recent chairs-fit-inside-the-table table addition, justify new everything, and land in the section originally destined for.

This trip happened to be desk-related: we needed a frame for a desk because when we bought the desk (24 hours earlier) they had let us buy the top and the legs but no frame (because of the Socialism). Now these particular breed of desk requires the buyer to "order" it from the "info desk" in the "showroom" and then "pick it up" at the "pick up window." (For perspective: usually you pick up a slip of paper representing the piece you want. You then take this paper to the warehouse where it directs you to the aisle where you'll find an unassembled variance of what you acutally want.)

So we went to the "info desk" and we GREETED by Howell. As in, he said "hello, ladies, how are we this evening?" You know, like he was a real person and we were real people and we could all have a pleasant conversation about emotions and the weather. We chatted with Howell about how could we please have a frame for the rest of our desk? And then Howell, being infinitely cooler than us, made a joke, "girls, what are you doing at IKEA on a Saturday night? This is not good." A real life breathing person at IKEA! Insulting me! To my face! Personally!

Later, we were in the AS-IS room (for people who are too cheap for even IKEA prices) perusing used furniture that won't fit in our full house. They have a bunch of pre-assembled furniture which amazes me because that means that it was returned already assembled and wouldn't it be hard to transport a huge wardrobe? Anyway, in addition to the pre-assembled stuff, there is a wall of boxed stuff. I was wondering out loud to Kathy how one might know what was in boxes?

Within three seconds a IKEA clerk named Brian had appeared at my right and was asking me if I needed help with anything. At IKEA! Not only was an employee present! but he heard my concern! and was addressing it!

It's like they smelled my investigatory skills and wanted to put on a good show for the blog.

All was not awry in IKEA, though. Things returned to normal. Perhaps they thought I had already left, but on a departure note, Kathy and I decided to get cinnamon rolls and coffee in the Bistro for $1.25 (because of the Socialism). We were sitting at the Bistro, people-watching Socialism in action, when the fire alarm went off. At IKEA! Sirens blaring! Lights flashing! We didn't see any smoke and the floor still felt cool so we figured we'd finish up and rush out (we were sitting next to the exit) if flames had made it down from housewares and were a-comin'.

No one else moved. Cashiers continued to ring people up. Clerks continued to be invisible. Business continued as usual (because of the Socialism).