I don't like IKEA. I especially don't like going there twice within two weeks. The reason for my return visit was to try to buy a chest of drawers for Edwin's mound of stuff as well buying curtain hooks. I managed the purchases and even bought some new glasses too from the extensive kitchenware section. The problem with the place is not the dull but intensely practical chic of the furniture nor the unpronounceable and random Swedish names of each article (why is a bookcase called Billy?). No. The problem is that it is soulless in its efficiency. An escalator glides you into the opening general furniture section and onto a well-worn path through the cavernous store. Well-worn people drift along this path in their mob-fulls, clutching standard issue yellow IKEA bags. These poor specimens, the people not the bags, stare vacantly the exhibited items and mutter their approval or disapproval as necessary. All of this takes place with next to no staff or, bizarrely for Malaysia, security present.
There were more than the expected mobs of people there when I went on Monday morning, at 10.00, hoping to avoid the Bank Holiday crush. Thousands of others had had the same idea and so to try to beat the drift I attacked the walkways with determination and speed. Ducking and diving like a moped rider on a Malaysian motorway and carefully making sure that I gave no indication as to my next move, I swiftly found my way to the bedroom-furniture place and wrote down the necessary code number, rack position and section location of the chest of drawers. I've been there before, see. Next it was curtain hooks, which proved a bit more tricky. There were no IKEA staff around to ask but I was successful after scouring every part of the curtain section. Next it was the glasses. There was no price on them so I tried to use the self-scan price thing but it didn't appear to work. I spoke to my first human IKEA worker and asked why the machine didn't do its thing. He took the glasses, turned the package 90 degrees and scanned it, successfully. Without a word he handed it back to me. Efficient.
I dashed on to the warehouse area to collect my chest of drawers, looking in aisle 22, section 12 as required. I couldn't find the article and so had to ask another IKEA chap. This one was clutching a clipboard and with the minimum of words showed me where I needed to find the flat-packed wonder. Next it was paying and it was a similarly word-free experience. I avoided the self-service ice cream and coffee machines, the last I would have wanted was a chat with the counter staff, and made for the deliveries section. I gave my address and delivery and assembly was arranged, again without the over use of words. And that was it. My car park ticket had been validated, again wordlessly by the checkout operator and I was ready to go. I felt RM500 lighter about the pocket but much heavier about the soul.
IKEA's efficiency is it's appeal while at the same time the main reason to dislike it. The buyer goes in, selects their goods, collects the goods from the warehouse, hands over money and then takes their objects away. Very few words are exchanged, the goods are too practical to have design faults or breakages and so efficiently and soullessly a Swedish conglomerate gets steadily richer while the buying experience gets poorer.
Or am I just and old git?
Clearly I am now officially a year older, although I am once again choosing to be 23. To help celebrate this all Lawrences hosted a party on Saturday, specifically an egg-and-bacon sandwich party. We bought loads of bacon, eggs and sliced bread on Friday, as well as beer, and as guests arrived we fried and nattered. A very nice occasion indeed.
My official birthday was yesterday. It was a normal teaching day that was packed with well wishes and chocolate. I was very pleased to be invited out to coffee by three little Lawrences after school and then it was on to Chilli's for a feed. On the way back I paid a return visit to the phantom key-cutter of Menjalara. Because it was quite late by then he and his chaos were enjoying another happy hour and appeared to be delighted by the arrival of my thank you beer for his efforts, albeit it failed efforts, to cut a new front door key for the latest Chateau Lawrence. Naturally I didn't have time to stay for a glass of beer, despite the drinkers' insistence and promised to return another time.