My trip to the Scandanavian furniture store

Morning all, yesterday afternoon I braved a trip to a certain scandanavian furniture store that shall go nameless as they don't really deserve any more promotion than they already get. After all they are constantly on the telly with their rubbish ads and they even make it into movies. For instance, fight club devotes a good 5 mins to espousing their supposed genius in decorating the modern day bachelor pad, although they were called 'furni' in that. Still I should get back to the story.

Anyway, I went to unnamed store, circumnavigated their carpark five times and finally got a park. Not a good sign. I then joined the throng indoors and participated in the herd mentality that exists when many of us humans mingle together. Dodging carts, stepping quickly into a perfectly formed mini bedroom complete with fake stereo and puter to avoid rampaging kiddies, and somehow managing to avoid being sucked into their 600 seater 'restaurant' which lists meatballs as its speciality, I did the swedish shopping experience.

I had a singular purpose. Purchase a bed frame so I don't have to sleep on the floor anymore. This you would think would be a simple process. However, you must first negotiate sofas, kitchens, bathrooms, etc to get to bedrooms where you see the item you want and must order it from a man. A distinctly invisible man - I attempted to operate invisible man's computer myself but could not decipher the swedish language it used.

So I dropped back into the herd and made my way to the bottom section where you can collect things you have decided to purchase. Only stopping to collect some kitchen knives, frames, a pot plant and some bedsheets along the way. Why the hell did I pick these up? Buying frenzy had taken hold and a quick stock of the situation was required. I dropped the posters of dolphins and whales (why?) and made it to the collection areas.

A man came up to me and asked if I knew where the futon section was. I didn't. At this point I couldn't find my bed. I asked a man operating his swedish computer where my bed was. He said I must order it from upstairs from the invisible man. No ifs, buts, or mutha-fuckas. Damn and blast. Off I went upstairs. Against the flow! Not easy but I eventually tracked down invisible man who ordered my bed. It wasn't in stock but was easily picked up from a warehouse down the road.

Finally got to the queue of people downstairs again who were also buying their knick knack crap. A frightened old woman came up to me while I was in the queue and asked if I knew how to get out of the store without buying anything. I pointed her to an employee who replied to her in Swenglish that he would open another till soon. No I didn't understand either so I pointed to what looked like a way out and she bolted over an emergency exit barrier. She turned back looking a bit relieved - nice one.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

1 hour later I got served. Although the definition of service could not possible contain an answer of 'wait for an hour in a queue with lots of people with wood stuff'. Anyway, out the door I sprang. Jumped in car and sped off to warehouse. It is now 4.15pm - I have been shopping in swedish land since 2pm.

The lady at the warehouse notes my order and invites me to sit down. There are only about 6 people waiting. This is top notch. I will be out of here in seconds.

I wait.

And wait. The wait is good. The wait is bad. The wait is long. It goes back and forth, some other people arrive. Kids play with the bizarre swedish toy thing in the corner. I watch the telly but can't hear it as the radio is up too loud.

At 5.15 pm my bed arrives. Woohoo. I'm out of here.

I look at mini. Then back at bed frame. It is bastard enormous.Tricky. Drop the roof, stick the headboard in the backseat and the sides in between the seats. The headboard protrudes about 4 feet above the seats. It makes the car look like it has an enormous fishtail. Cool. I have it wedged in tight though and I am determined that after three hours shopping I will not be beaten.

Top down, I'm cruising home, back along the north circular then on to the A40. I'm getting odd looks but its working and I'm gonna make it.

It starts to rain.

Hard.

Damn and blast. But an odd thing occurs, at speeds above 40mph the rain is lifted magically around the car by aerodynamic effects. I have the wipers going full bore, people are pointing at me as they go by, but I'm not getting wet. Astonishing.

I make it home - dry. Yeah. Go dave, go. Put bed together, discover part missing, discover have been charged for three bits of it instead of one, have to go back this morning (Saturday). All good fun. Others may get down about this, but I am stoical throughout. What does not kill us makes us stronger or something similar.

You have been reading a real dave encounter. This is a true story. Names may have been changed to protect the innocent. Rawk on.