S.O.S.
I'd like to kick Sweden in the nuts. Hard. And not for the reason most would like to kick Sweden in the nuts as my Until I BLOG again link at the end of this post implies (read: ABBA.)
I'd like to kick Sweden in the nuts for IKEA.
That store (really more the shopping experience) is a beating of such fuck me proportion that my general rule is to never, ever, go there. Fuck their $2 Swedish meatball dinners. And insanely cheap furniture and housewares. It isn't worth me having to navigate their labyrinth of a store to save a few bucks only to have to pull their shit off the racks myself, drag it home, and then assemble. And as if that wasn't reason enough to stay away from IKEA factor in that the joint is always full of tourists who are there more for recreation than actual shopping.
IKEA makes me crazier than a shit-house rat.
It is seriously such a beating to me, that when my Lovely Bride and I started discussing buying more seating for our den my only condition was it not be from IKEA.
Yet there I was on a school night not only looking at modular sectional choices for the den, but also looking for an IKEA employee who could help us figure out their byzantine pricing for said modular sectional choices.
You might be wondering why My Lovely Bride would blatantly disregard my lone condition and drag my ass north to IKEA.
Two words: Her mom.
My Lovely Bride enlisted her mother (Linda) to help her on the quest for more seating. Linda is very good at shopping. I think it fair to say she loves it. Which is why she went shopping with My Lovely Bride armed with IKEA's 2010 catalog. Mind you this catalog probably came out in late 2009. Her reason to save it, when she saves little else—she's always attempting to give us her cast-offs so she can make room for new things—is inexplicable, considering up until that point, she had never set foot in an IKEA.
So, again, there I was, on a school night not only looking at modular sectional choices but also for an IKEA employee who could make sense of their byzantine pricing for modular seating so we could figure out how much what we wanted was going to cost.
But there was no one there. Actually that's not true. There were probably as many people in IKEA on that Tuesday night as resided in the home town of my youth. The issue was that there were no IKEA people around. Anywhere.
After waiting for I'd guess, ten minutes or so, I took matters in my own hands and back tracked in a follow the bread crumbs sort of a way back out of their store to their payment area to see if anyone could help me.
Considering that IKEA payment area are all now self serve like you see at the grocery store these days, I didn't have much luck. The two IKEA employees I spoke to, I bet, if you added their ages together, would still be less than my 43 year old ass. They were friendly. And wanted to help. But ultimately tits on a boar hog was the net effect.
So I had to drag my ass back through their maze of a store to My Lovely Bride who was still trying to figure out what she thought the seating would cost us based on what we wanted (she was hundreds of dollars off by the way which is a testament to how confusing their pricing is since My Lovely Bride is smart.)
In addition to us there were a few other people who instead of walking through the area (these recreational shoppers put me in mind of Dorothy and the gang walking down the yellow brick road,) were milling around, clearly wanting assistance too.
Anyone who reads this here BLOG (or knows me) know that I like to fuck with people.
What you might not know is that one of my favorite places to fuck with people is in a retail setting.
I believe people for the most part, are sheep. I don't say that to be a dick. Or superior. I think people, especially in a group situation, are going to go with the flow. It's in our DNA. How we survived and grown in a very entrenched sociological sort of a way. You follow certain rules. Do what everyone else is doing. It's for the greater good. This is especially true in a store like IKEA.
There are rules is my point. And even though most people follow them, most of them can't (or won't be) enforced. I'm not talking about theft. Or breaking shit kind of rules either. I'm talking about the store's rules.
A rule like a customer using the phone and computer in a salesperson's (who was AWOL) work space at IKEA.
Which is what I did.
I work for a retail store. I'm part of the corporate office, but have been around it long enough to know how things work. This made taking over the phone pretty easy. Which is what I did to the horror (especially one lady, she looked at me like I had shit on the floor and then wiped my ass with a fabric sample) of all those milling (or walking through) the modular seating area.
The first person I called (I was using their phone distribution list which was posted near the keyboard in the workspace I had commandeered) was customer service.
I got voice mail.
Which asked me to leave a detailed message.
So, with the uptight lady watching me warily I said, "Hi. I need HELP! BAD!!! There's no one up her in (insert whatever the sign that hung in the area called the area.) You need to get someone up here. People need help."
And really because the women was giving me such a, 'I can't believe he's using their phone' sort of a look I added, "If someone doesn't come quick I'm going to start tearing SHIT up."
I made a point of looking at the women when I said shit too. Because again, that's how I roll. I like to fuck with people. And believe me. It worked.
You might be wondering where My Lovely Bride was during my commandeering of the phone. She was walking around the area, sort of watching me, and looking. She is mildly amused by my antics. In fact, back in our salad days, I remember entertaining her (and fucking with people) at a department store by trying on a Speedo bathing suit (I had boxers on underneath the Speedo so I looked pretty fucking tight) and, wait for it, a garish seersucker suit.
My point. She knows how I roll and doesn't try and stop me. If anything she'll walk off so people don't think I'm with her, or her with me.
Not that that would (or will) stop me.
I waited a few minutes to see if customer service would send someone to help quick before I started tearing shit up.
Nada.
So I called a couple of more random extensions for giggles. Make odd noises. Hang up. Call back. That kind of stuff. Kind of interoffice or in-store crank calling. That is until at the very bottom of this handy dandy laminated phone distribution sheet I saw this: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY CALL (INSERT EXT.) - SUPERVISING DUTY MANAGER.
Fuck me. If this wasn't an emergency I don't know what is.
"This is (Insert her name) at the help desk..."
"I need help. Bad. Really need help. Now."
She was silent for a long time. Literally twenty seconds before she said, "Who is this?"
"I'm a customer." I said. "I've taken over the phone."
Crickets.
"I need help. A lot of people do. But there is no one in (insert whatever the sign that hung in the area called the area.) They must be AWOL."
"Ok..." She said. Warily.
"Get someone up here now!" I said. More playing than pissed off or upset. Not that she or the people milling around would know.
"Ok..." She said. Again. Warily.
"Bye." I said.
I hung up.
Two minutes later a pregnant women in a yellow IKEA shirt walked into the area with a very strange, curious, dare I say, scared look on her face.
Since I was still standing by the work station with my My Lovely Bride who had rejoined me after I had grown bored with calling people she walked up to us.
But she didn't say anything.
She had that weird look on her face. Scared. Angry. Both?
My Lovely Bride spoke first. To break the tension I guess. Turns out that this lady was the actual manager who I had called. A few minutes later a lady by the name of (per her name badge) Fatima showed up too.
We ended up buying the modular sectional seating. And. A mortar and pestle. I wanted a $4 wok. But My Lovely Bride said the expensive wok we already had was all the wok we needed.
Fuck me. And. IKEA.
I hope the manager was happy that with her help we made a big ticket purchase by IKEA standards. Her walking through her maze of a store (pregnant to boot) wasn't in vain. Even though she seemed on guard or angry during our entire transaction. Which now that I think about it might be a result of the customer service person who got my voice mail calling her for a possible emergency in (insert whatever the sign that hung in the area called the area) where some crazy customer said he was going to to start tearing SHIT up if no one came to help.
Until I BLOG again...So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me S.O.S.
I'd like to kick Sweden in the nuts for IKEA.
That store (really more the shopping experience) is a beating of such fuck me proportion that my general rule is to never, ever, go there. Fuck their $2 Swedish meatball dinners. And insanely cheap furniture and housewares. It isn't worth me having to navigate their labyrinth of a store to save a few bucks only to have to pull their shit off the racks myself, drag it home, and then assemble. And as if that wasn't reason enough to stay away from IKEA factor in that the joint is always full of tourists who are there more for recreation than actual shopping.
IKEA makes me crazier than a shit-house rat.
It is seriously such a beating to me, that when my Lovely Bride and I started discussing buying more seating for our den my only condition was it not be from IKEA.
Yet there I was on a school night not only looking at modular sectional choices for the den, but also looking for an IKEA employee who could help us figure out their byzantine pricing for said modular sectional choices.
You might be wondering why My Lovely Bride would blatantly disregard my lone condition and drag my ass north to IKEA.
Two words: Her mom.
My Lovely Bride enlisted her mother (Linda) to help her on the quest for more seating. Linda is very good at shopping. I think it fair to say she loves it. Which is why she went shopping with My Lovely Bride armed with IKEA's 2010 catalog. Mind you this catalog probably came out in late 2009. Her reason to save it, when she saves little else—she's always attempting to give us her cast-offs so she can make room for new things—is inexplicable, considering up until that point, she had never set foot in an IKEA.
So, again, there I was, on a school night not only looking at modular sectional choices but also for an IKEA employee who could make sense of their byzantine pricing for modular seating so we could figure out how much what we wanted was going to cost.
But there was no one there. Actually that's not true. There were probably as many people in IKEA on that Tuesday night as resided in the home town of my youth. The issue was that there were no IKEA people around. Anywhere.
After waiting for I'd guess, ten minutes or so, I took matters in my own hands and back tracked in a follow the bread crumbs sort of a way back out of their store to their payment area to see if anyone could help me.
Considering that IKEA payment area are all now self serve like you see at the grocery store these days, I didn't have much luck. The two IKEA employees I spoke to, I bet, if you added their ages together, would still be less than my 43 year old ass. They were friendly. And wanted to help. But ultimately tits on a boar hog was the net effect.
So I had to drag my ass back through their maze of a store to My Lovely Bride who was still trying to figure out what she thought the seating would cost us based on what we wanted (she was hundreds of dollars off by the way which is a testament to how confusing their pricing is since My Lovely Bride is smart.)
In addition to us there were a few other people who instead of walking through the area (these recreational shoppers put me in mind of Dorothy and the gang walking down the yellow brick road,) were milling around, clearly wanting assistance too.
Anyone who reads this here BLOG (or knows me) know that I like to fuck with people.
What you might not know is that one of my favorite places to fuck with people is in a retail setting.
I believe people for the most part, are sheep. I don't say that to be a dick. Or superior. I think people, especially in a group situation, are going to go with the flow. It's in our DNA. How we survived and grown in a very entrenched sociological sort of a way. You follow certain rules. Do what everyone else is doing. It's for the greater good. This is especially true in a store like IKEA.
There are rules is my point. And even though most people follow them, most of them can't (or won't be) enforced. I'm not talking about theft. Or breaking shit kind of rules either. I'm talking about the store's rules.
A rule like a customer using the phone and computer in a salesperson's (who was AWOL) work space at IKEA.
Which is what I did.
I work for a retail store. I'm part of the corporate office, but have been around it long enough to know how things work. This made taking over the phone pretty easy. Which is what I did to the horror (especially one lady, she looked at me like I had shit on the floor and then wiped my ass with a fabric sample) of all those milling (or walking through) the modular seating area.
The first person I called (I was using their phone distribution list which was posted near the keyboard in the workspace I had commandeered) was customer service.
I got voice mail.
Which asked me to leave a detailed message.
So, with the uptight lady watching me warily I said, "Hi. I need HELP! BAD!!! There's no one up her in (insert whatever the sign that hung in the area called the area.) You need to get someone up here. People need help."
And really because the women was giving me such a, 'I can't believe he's using their phone' sort of a look I added, "If someone doesn't come quick I'm going to start tearing SHIT up."
I made a point of looking at the women when I said shit too. Because again, that's how I roll. I like to fuck with people. And believe me. It worked.
You might be wondering where My Lovely Bride was during my commandeering of the phone. She was walking around the area, sort of watching me, and looking. She is mildly amused by my antics. In fact, back in our salad days, I remember entertaining her (and fucking with people) at a department store by trying on a Speedo bathing suit (I had boxers on underneath the Speedo so I looked pretty fucking tight) and, wait for it, a garish seersucker suit.
My point. She knows how I roll and doesn't try and stop me. If anything she'll walk off so people don't think I'm with her, or her with me.
Not that that would (or will) stop me.
I waited a few minutes to see if customer service would send someone to help quick before I started tearing shit up.
Nada.
So I called a couple of more random extensions for giggles. Make odd noises. Hang up. Call back. That kind of stuff. Kind of interoffice or in-store crank calling. That is until at the very bottom of this handy dandy laminated phone distribution sheet I saw this: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY CALL (INSERT EXT.) - SUPERVISING DUTY MANAGER.
Fuck me. If this wasn't an emergency I don't know what is.
"This is (Insert her name) at the help desk..."
"I need help. Bad. Really need help. Now."
She was silent for a long time. Literally twenty seconds before she said, "Who is this?"
"I'm a customer." I said. "I've taken over the phone."
Crickets.
"I need help. A lot of people do. But there is no one in (insert whatever the sign that hung in the area called the area.) They must be AWOL."
"Ok..." She said. Warily.
"Get someone up here now!" I said. More playing than pissed off or upset. Not that she or the people milling around would know.
"Ok..." She said. Again. Warily.
"Bye." I said.
I hung up.
Two minutes later a pregnant women in a yellow IKEA shirt walked into the area with a very strange, curious, dare I say, scared look on her face.
Since I was still standing by the work station with my My Lovely Bride who had rejoined me after I had grown bored with calling people she walked up to us.
But she didn't say anything.
She had that weird look on her face. Scared. Angry. Both?
My Lovely Bride spoke first. To break the tension I guess. Turns out that this lady was the actual manager who I had called. A few minutes later a lady by the name of (per her name badge) Fatima showed up too.
We ended up buying the modular sectional seating. And. A mortar and pestle. I wanted a $4 wok. But My Lovely Bride said the expensive wok we already had was all the wok we needed.
Fuck me. And. IKEA.
I hope the manager was happy that with her help we made a big ticket purchase by IKEA standards. Her walking through her maze of a store (pregnant to boot) wasn't in vain. Even though she seemed on guard or angry during our entire transaction. Which now that I think about it might be a result of the customer service person who got my voice mail calling her for a possible emergency in (insert whatever the sign that hung in the area called the area) where some crazy customer said he was going to to start tearing SHIT up if no one came to help.
Until I BLOG again...So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me S.O.S.
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