Popping the Körsbar

So I had moved into my apartment back in November, and for the past couple of months, I lived a lifestyle that could best be described as "neo-bohemian" or "pathetic". Just on a whim one day, I decided to take stock of all the furniture in my bedroom. Here's the list:

*Chair

Ta-da! I didn't even have a bed in my bedroom; I still don't, technically - been rocking an air mattress, and it's quite comfortable. Even still, I'm pretty sure there are tweakers living in a Brownsville apartment living off ramen and meth who have better-furnished living accommodations than I did. So, finally, I picked myself up and did what any red-blooded and cheapskate American would do - I, John Ciolfi, for the first time ever, went to IKEA.

Before I made my journey over to Paramus, the only thing I knew about IKEA was that it was a furniture store and that it was Swedish, thus bringing the country's total foreign output to six items (including ABBA, meatballs, Detroit Red Wings players, Chefs, and Bikini Teams - SIDE NOTE: Whatever happened to them? They were everywhere back in the early 90's and then just faded away. I can't imagine that looking at a group of tall, blonde, gorgeous, scantily-clad women would ever become passé. I think we need to start an investigation on this... I think I could find a few volunteers...). The following few hours I spent in there certainly was an eye-opening experience. For those of you who have not yet ventured into one, I will try to explain it as best I can.

First things first, the layout is very much unlike any other store I've been in. The whole showroom is one long twisting path with only a handful of shortcuts; so if you go in for more than one item (or don't know exactly what you're looking for in advance), you better bring along some comfortable shoes and possibly a couple of days' worth of rations (and if your significant other is falling behind, cut them loose. IKEA is not for the weak...). But now I get why the Swedes as a nation are so healthy - they get to the store and have to walk another half-mile just to buy a lightbulb. It's a pretty clever idea, actually - it probably draws impulse buys like crazy ("Ooh, look! Rolltop desks!!!"), and it's really logically planned-out.

Second, I'm pretty sure IKEA is an acronym for the Swedish phrase for "Get it yourself, asshole." Upon entering, you are given a pencil and a piece of paper. If you see an item you like, you write down the serial number, then walk over to a GIANT warehouse, find your product, and haul off your goods to the checkout counter (where, naturally, you do all the work yourself). There are actual [mouth-]breathing employees around the store, but they just kinda stand there and don't seem to have any particular usefulness, like a bunch of 25-year-olds who won't leave their parents' basements (not that I know anything about that... ahem...). And the boxes are all the same nondescript cardboard boxes that apparently have a lead lining; I bought a 3-drawer chest, and the box weighed 75 pounds - that was fun bringing it up the stairs to my place. My thighs still hate me. And they don't come assembled; they leave the fun to you, so when it fucks up and inevitably falls apart, you're the asshole who's to blame. Once again, clever. But still, for $40, I can't really complain - that was a damn good price for a cheap bastard like me.

So I bought my dresser, loaded it up in my car, and thought "I'm kinda hungry." (Shocking, I know....) I went back inside and they have a big cafe, and in keeping with the theme, it's pretty much all self-serve. There were two workers there - the cook/server guy, and the cashier. I swear, if I end up running a Fortune 500 business, I'm copying their model and hiring like 3 people. Anyway, I figured "When in Stockholm..." and ordered a plate of a dozen Swedish meatballs with lingonberry sauce (hell if I know what a lingonberry is, but it's frickin' delicious). Now, you'd think that I could handle 12 small meatballs (I know some of you are gonna make a joke there - How do you say "Bite me" in Swedish?). But those little bastards are filling; after six, my stomach sent a message to my brain going "RUN! GET TO THE CHOPPER!!!!" Frankly, when one of your body parts starts quoting 80's action movies, it's probably best just to follow orders.

So now I have a giant cardboard box full of dresser components lying on the floor in my room; I'll try to put it together at some point this week and bring my furniture total to a still-less-than-respectable two. I may even take pictures so you punks can laugh at my expense (like you don't already). Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna look for some lingonberry recipes. I've even started watching this chef on TV for ideas, but for the life of me, I still can't understand what the hell he's saying....

Bork, Bork, Bork,

JC