I dislike shopping. I know some people think it's a sport or entertainment. Women seem to love it. They walk around in gaggles carrying parcels (do we parcel anything anymore?) laughing and having a great time. I get invited to go shopping sometimes. I'm not a hang out and go shopping type. Chat over coffee or a drink, yes. There's nothing I'm going to be doing, while clothes shopping, that remotely resembles fun. Groceries are a necessity so I force myself out once a week to acquire comestibles. (I think that was a Monty Python reference...Cheese shop? Not sure, anyway...). I don't mind book stores. They're quiet and usually empty and they contain books. I like books. Clothes are just a means to not go about naked.
Shopping for clothing sends my stress levels into the stratosphere so I don't do it unless I have no option. Like when I have to attend two day symposiums and their list of instructions stipulate that I not wear my uniform and the dress code is 'office'. Requiring me to attend a symposium was bad enough, but to take away my black force field of protection and invisibility was really low.
Multiply all that angst by a thousand and you might grasp how much I hate shopping at Ikea. First, I'm pretty sure Ikea will not have anything I'm looking for. Not that I don't admire the simple Euro lines, I do. I can tolerate the whole assemble yourself thing even though you can't ever count on all the pieces being there and I can tolerate the long line ups and even the cafe with the strange food. I can't tolerate the store itself.
First, it's configured to trap you in and force you to wander through every department, manipulated and herded strategically for maximum impulse buying opportunities and I find it insulting to be considered that weak minded. Second, when I want to leave a place, show me the exit. They hide their exits. I'm sure there had to be some but I don't even remember an emergency exit because most surely would have used it, fire or no fire.
It's like a retail Hotel California. I don't want to be somewhere that claims I'm free to leave but goes out of its way to prevent me from doing so.
|I feel ya, my friend|
Here's a blogger who postulates that Ikea is the Norwegian god of Frustration, a cousin of the trickster Loki, and well known for myths like “The Tale of the Seventy Misaligned Pre-Drilled Screw Holes" and “The Shoe Maker and the Furniture Labyrinth”. Yep Labyrinth is right. Don't get me out of there. I won't be going in in the first place.