IKEA adventures

Yesterday, I explained to my Mom that, as wonderful as the products and designs are, the IKEA shopping experience is only for the hardy and handy. If you like service or stilettos and deplore phrases like “some assembly required,” stay away.

First customers walk through an enormous showroom (grab a map; follow the arrows). It is fun to see the wide variety of items in enticing vignettes—like walking through the pages of a very crowed shelter magazine. People run around with tiny pencils and fill out their blue shopping list.

Second, shoppers can catch their breath at the restaurant and café. We usually stop for a mix of Sprite and Lingenberry soda.

Refreshed, is it time for step three: Wheeling an unwieldy cart through an enormous warehouse, never letting it go, as an unscrupulous and less well-organized customer would surely scurry off with your wheels. Another danger is zombies, who—exhausted and glassy-eyed—will run their carts over your heel. I’ve been just such a shopper myself. (Sorry, Matty.)

If you are actually able to,
A) locate the bin and aisle with your selection,
B) find each of the needed boxes in the set and
C) decide they are undamaged enough to seem worth the risk, you can
D) struggle to maneuver the flat, heavy items into your cart.

Now it is time for step four: Trying not to pass out or get into fisticuffs during the endless wait to check out.

Vēnī, vīdī, vīcī. As we hauled our two overburdened carts to the truck, we realized we'd spent less on all the items on our list than for the sexy but too large extension table I admired online. Plus, there was no 12-week wait for the furniture to arrive.

We were also happy because Thursday, February 19, was the last day of Matt's truck lease, and we'd made good use of the vehicle during its final hours in our care.

Then came assembly, step five in the IKEA adventure. Yes, it is impressive how exceptionally well much of the furniture goes together. Great design and engineering. And fairly helpful pictographs. Yet even with the brains and brawn of Matt running the assembly operation, it took hours for us to put Expedit (made in Germany) together for the master bedroom and to add the Lack lighting.

We didn’t complete our mission. At 10 p.m., I needed dinner. I needed sleep. I needed not to be working on this project anymore, Expedit insert assembly and installation be damned. I woke up that Friday with an IKEA hangover.

Bjursta, the extension table, came together after Matt adjusted a couple holes with his power drill. We also installed the four nearly invisible Tobias chairs. And just in time for a visit by our darling six-your-old Goddaughter, Amanda. (Bjursta doubles as a desk.)

The three Pax wardrobes (also made in Germany), meant to replace our demolished entry closet, came together nicely. Until we tried to attach the Drammen doors. There were no hinges. “Sold separately,” we found out when we went back to IKEA on February 22.

Then we decided we needed a fourth Pax. And lighting. And shelves. And a “spacer” so the row of wardrobes would sit perfectly along the wall and hide the ugly fuse box.

So Matt also picked up Benno. It was a quarter inch too tall. Do we “rip” the bottom? No, no, better to add than subtract… That is why yesterday, on my birthday, our chores included attaching poplar trim to the “birch effect” storage units.

We got the desired result. The glossy wall of storage coordinates with our stairs. It glows (thanks to Dioder) like our Chia Tree with Star Light—like Morimoto restaurant in Philadelphia. Like a dream come true.

And all it took was five trips to IKEA (both to Paramus and Elizabeth) to get all the pieces and components we needed. (Plus we picked up some very yummy vittles from IKEA’s Swedish Food Market.)