Memories from the not so distant past : my lunchtime visit to Ikea.

Changes are afoot. Big changes. Huge changes. All good though. But they are the kind of changes that come with a price. A price to be payed at the Ikea cash reg­is­ter. Mean­ing I will have to brave those hal­lowed hall­ways again. But I’ve learned from past experiences,I will not attempt it dur­ing my lunch­break anymore…

Dear friends, fam­ily and ran­dom strangers who read this blog I have a very impor­tant announce­ment. As for today I give you the right to ques­tion my san­ity. But just for today mind, so take advan­tage of it…

I know that there are peo­ple who ques­tion my san­ity on a daily basis. I have no idea why. No really! I mean doesn’t every­one keep a pair of bal­let flats in their car for when those high heels the office dress-code forces you to wear get just too damn unbear­able at the end of the day and the last thing you want to do after spend­ing 8 or 9 hours bound­ing about on the balls of your feet is dri­ving with those suck­ers? And do we not all place our children’s loud­est and most annoy­ing toys on strate­gic burglars-are-sure-to-step-on-it-and-the-noise-will– scare-them-shitless-and-then-they-will-leave –places when our sig­nif­i­cant oth­ers are absent and we are spend­ing the night alone with two lit­tle kids? 

Oh, you don’t. *scratches head*

Never mind.

So, while I am a fairly nor­mal per­son *cough*today I teth­ered dan­ger­ously close to the realm of insan­ity. I decided to go IKEA dur­ing my lunch break. Now unlike what you hear or read in the news­pa­per we Bel­gies are rel­a­tively effi­cient peo­ple and we do not take very long lunch breaks. One hour suf­fices us to eat a sand­wich and catch up on the lat­est office gos­sip. One hour. Going to the IKEA 5km from my office, buy­ing some­thing and get­ting back. One hour.

I’m pretty sure my morn­ing cof­fee has­been spiked by some­thing. Remind me to tell the main­te­nance guy to clean the cof­fee machine will you? Per­haps there is a fun­gus in the fil­ter which causes hal­lu­ci­na­tions. That or Man­age­ment is exper­i­ment­ing on us…

The moment I set foot in those hal­lowed halls the sheer fool­ish­ness of my plan dawned on me. For a minute I thought about dri­ving back, but the patron saints of Determined-Shopping-For-Their-Offspring-Mothers came to me in my hour of need. They inspired me to bring my quest to a good end.

Fueled with deter­mi­na­tion and may-have-been-spiked-coffee I set forth. Dart­ing through the hall­ways, scan­ning the dis­plays with my now x-ray eyes, not giv­ing the Lak­mussen, the Benno’s, the Eivors , Bjursta’s and such like the atten­tion they usu­ally get. I didn’t pause to look at the way things where orga­nized in the mock up rooms. Nor­mally that would cost me a good half hour or some­thing like that, enough to sat­isfy the voyeur inside of me. For moth­ers with lit­tle chil­dren whose liv­ing room is con­stantly strewn with Duplo blocks, IKEA is one big peep show. Mock up rooms, which are clean and Duplo-free, moth­er­hood porn, baby!  The cat­a­logue, full of page after page of well orga­nized rooms? My ver­sion of Play­boy Magazine.

But none of that today, just a quickie with the new fab­ric for the Ektrop chairs (a girl has needs, don’t judge). I was on a mis­sion! Lucky for me those bal­let flats came in handy (see hus­band, I told you that keep­ing them in the car is a good idea). I was able to dart through the shop­pers, nar­rowly avoid­ing col­li­sion with a can­dle dis­play when a large blond woman pushed me aside as she ran squalling with joy to a new type of side table.  After duck­ing behind a panel or two and jump­ing through a Narnia-like closet or six I arrived at my first stop: the children’s section. 

In all the Ikea’s I’ve vis­ited the children’s sec­tion is always at the very end of the shoppers-track. Ever won­dered why? Because IKEA knows it is porn-for-mothers and wants us to enjoy the expe­ri­ence as long as possible.

The may-have-been-spiked-coffee had height­ened my senses and I found my first tar­get with­out much trou­ble. One Len Stjärna baby duvet. Score!  Next up : the pic­ture frame section. 

Quickly I darted past the glass and din­ner­ware dis­plays in the Mar­ket place, not even glanc­ing at the cute lit­tle serv­ing bowls (Don’t worry my loves, we’ll meet again soon…),  Pic­ture frames I needed! There they were. Hah: two Ribba frames so that I can finally put those cute pic­tures of the girls on my desk. Score! 

Now for the exit. Here I must add that on the way out I was seduced by a Yngaren-set which I ended up buy­ing. Hey, I’m not per­fect and I never claimed saint­hood. I am just a mere mor­tal and let the fact that I hadn’t suc­cumbed to the temp­ta­tions of the closet orga­niz­ing sec­tion stand as proof for my strength of will.

At the cash reg­is­ter, self scan, pay. Past the Swedish shop, no time for meat­balls, the office is call­ing me back.  Across the park­ing, into the car, over the Brus­sels’ ring and back at the office at 13hr03! It was 12hr11 when I left the car park!Mission accomplished!

High on suc­cess and may-have-been-spiked-coffee I sat behind my desk. And then it finally hit me: I hadn’t packed any lunch and the cafe­te­ria was closed.

PS: Not the change has noth­ing what­so­ever to do with a baby! I’m not pregnant.

4 thoughts on “Memories from the not so distant past : my lunchtime visit to Ikea.

  1. Before (as in before chil­dren), I used to keep a pair of ‘dri­ving shoes’ in my car (i.e. flip flops). I also had ‘office shoes’ (i.e. flip flops), so totally sane.

    But going to IKEA? In less than an hour? Notsomuch. :)

  2. Here in the US the baby sec­tion is right next to the cafe­te­ria at the top of the stairs — a quick turn to the left when arriv­ing and there you are, instead of fol­low­ing the path straight ahead to couches.
    Sorry you didn’t grab the meat­balls on the way. Sounds like you needed them.

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