THINKING OUTSIDE THE (FLAT) BOX
I am IKEA-Neuro-Divergent.
Or, as “they” (aka the AI that will soon take over the planet) say in Google-translate-Swedish: “Avvikande”.
This is not a new self-discovery. But it was reinforced when recently buying, and building, a bookshelf (FJALLBO, Aisle 02, Bin 04). I was not surprised by my commando-prisoner-extraction purchasing of this item, nor the complete opposite approach to building it. I WAS surprised to find myself still equipping my household in IKEA chic at this stage in my life. To quote the other Swedish juggernaut, Oh, IKEA “here I go again. How can I resist you?”
My IKEA Avvikande-ness is a deeply ingrained character trait honed over decades. Since Swedish common sense first descended like a colossus on top of Leon’s (the O.G. yellow furniture store), I have probably fitted up 100,000sf of home/office space with “Best of" IKEA decor (along with every AirBnB on the planet).[1] Only once in all that flat box, Allen key, time have I followed the prescribed IKEA approach. It was my very first IKEA construction project - a filing cabinet that took the entirety of Ben-Hur to build (a famously long movie, which, in the TV ads era, lasted an entire Sunday). Despite the time investment, I can clearly remember having multiple left-over parts, and vowing (vehemently) never to build another piece of furniture involving drawer systems. Having failed the only time I actually attempted to follow the instructions, I thereafter opted to (again, with the ABBA) “Go My Own Way”.
The IKEA Obstinance starts from before I even hit the oversized revolving door. Designed to simultaneously rotate 100 people, this door drives me to distraction. My theory is that it is intentionally glacially slow in order to set customers on the 0.5x pace required to survive the shopping marathon they are about to embark on. It is a gleaning mechanism designed to weed out shoppers who aren’t prepared to spend the next four hours of their lives going in prescribed circles. I defiantly reject the IKEA rat maze, and mildly comatose tempo, from the outset. I aspire instead for maximum efficiency. I drive in through the delivery entrance, rather than weave through the box mall designed to cause fender benders. I park in the loading zone with the goal of getting in and out within the prescribed 15-minute limit. I enter through the exit doors, thread my way backwards through the check-out area, vaulting yellow cordons and dodging car sized carts. I go directly to “Market Hall”. [I haven’t (voluntarily) stepped foot in the Showroom since the days when I used it as a toddler amusement park - allowing my children to run rampant through the mock studio apartments was vastly superior to the chemical warfare of the “Småland” ball pit.[2] The #1 point on the playroom waiver being “It is recommended that the child visits the washroom prior to entering Småland.” I think the word they were looking for was “mandatory”.]
I similarly avoid all the other IKEA amenities. No mid-shopping meatballs for me. No soft serve ice cream (an incredibly ill-thought-out food item to sell alongside upholstered goods). I would be open to grabbing a bag of Swedish Fish – but they are no longer available due to a “need to give Ikea more control of the food products in order to guarantee production and quality standards” (Thanks a lot horse meat scandal).[3] Originally, the store restaurant was positioned midway through the Showroom Hall, between the closet and office sections. This was a clear acknowledgement that the place was designed to trap you for so long that you required sustenance at waypoints. I am not falling for that. I am laser focused on amassing my target items liked it is a timed scavenger hunt. I am after IKEA Strava K.O.M. status. Recently, M & I went to IKEA together. [Generally, this is a terrible idea if you value your marriage.] I mentored him in the critical importance of the horse-blinder approach: One must stay resolutely on task; no considering options; no being distracted by the latest clever use of bamboo; no testing the firmness of the cushions. These rookie mistakes will cost you dearly when you run out of steam at the check-out, unable to cross the line with your 10,000 miscellaneous impulse items.
My Personal Best time would be better, but I refuse to follow the ‘fixed flow’ format. I defiantly dart through every short cut I can find, even if it means missing the section I am looking for. I am the one rat that would prefer to get lost in the maze than follow a (literal) yellow road to the end goal (the end goal being to get the f- out of there). Like second guessing Waze, this propensity to go off the advised route may find you lulled to sleep like Dorothy in a field of SMYCKA artificial poppies. Except instead of being rescued by the Tin Man, you awake to the blaze of the yellow shirt and swinging lanyard of an IKEA staffer. [I speak from experience, having nodded off in a mock bunk bedroom while the children spun endlessly in the LÖMSK swivel chair, and was awakenned by the prodding of a gigantic vertically striped bumble bee.] At the cash, I refuse to buy the oversized blue bag. This, despite it being the most useful household item in the whole store. Instead, I pile each individual item back into the cart, and then transfer them one by one through the parking lot cart-barricade and have them roll around the minivan all the way home. The only time I follow protocol is when I have no choice but to use the elevator. Even though the elevator is bigger than most IKEA patrons’ apartments and has a 20’ door span, getting onboard with wonky wheeled, flat box laden, carts is a potentially fatal combination of Giant Jenga and Bumper Cars.
Once home, my IKEA divergency leads me decidely astray. This world of step-by-step comic strips and numbered bolts is never going to be a good fit for me. There are those who read manuals, and those who ask: “What manual?”. I am firmly in the later camp. I don’t have much time for the IKEA instruction Book Man either. I just don't self-identify with his perpetual head scratching bewilderment, his dopey “?" speech bubble, or his willingness to call a 1-800 number. No mindful dipping of the assembling toes into the Allen key waters for me! I jump in full cannonball, following nothing but my intuition. Unfortunately, there is often (always) a disconnect between how I believe the bookshelf/table/lamp should be put together and the way it was designed to be. My approach is: 1) assemble, 2) inevitably dis-assemble (often damaging the product in the process), 3) re-assemble using the actual manual. This process is sound-tracked by me muttering my name under my breath with a mixture of admonishment and incredulity. I am also always looking to improve upon IKEA designs, mixing and matching products in ways that generally result in unaligned drill holes and inapplicable hardware.[4] The plus side of this de-constructivist approach is an ability to IKEA-hack - as evidenced by dubious creations like the SKAFTET meets driftwood log floor lamp.
The main problem is that I do not take instruction well. Just ask anyone. Well, just ask M. He’s pretty much the only one who has cause to TRY to give me instructions.[5] It’s not that I think I know better (well, okay, sometimes it is/I do) - My brain just doesn’t like to be hemmed in. IKEA is by no means the only environment where I balk at colouring inside the lines. It is omnipresent. As noted in Learning to Cook, I can slay a three-course meal out of fridge remnants, but can’t for the life of me follow a recipe for Rice Krispie Squares. Don’t even get me started on filling out e-forms! Every time I face the “required field” of inapplicable drop-down options I start writing a mental Op Ed. Maybe when they ask for “Occupation” they could at least give a “Pick Three” option? Many people have recurring nightmares about long-ago exams - mine are focused on the multiple-choice test answer cards and the necessity of filling in the little ovals “just so”. Don’t even get me started on Passport applications – already hogtied by their insistence on Black versus Blue pen, it is virtually impossible to curtail myself sufficiently to sign “inside the box”.
M is true a Think-Outside-The-Box person - the useful kind where he actually devises viable solutions to real life problems. For me, it’s not so much that I think outside the box - its more that I want to create my own box. Can I build a box, from a box, according to box-building instructions? Under duress, yes. If you make me. Can I MAKE a box out of random items? Yes Please! If you are looking for clever ways to “upcycled” garbage with zero real-world application, I am your person! Raised on MacGyver and the A-team, I can joyfully repurpose bubble gum and sheet metal to escape peril, or prepare pre-brawl fortifications. But assemble a PAX closet system? Time for the TaskRabbit assembly service.
Or maybe just finally graduate from IKEA…? Let me think on that while I go wash my FARGKLAR dinnerware.
---------------------------
[1] We bought our very first non-flea market furniture at the Leon’s “Don't Pay a Cent Event”. When we paid in full as soon as the loan period ran out, the Leon’s salesperson was visibly disappointed in us. Apparently, this event is only for people with terrible credit ratings. Side note: As a Public Service, I feel I should take this opportunity to share that Swedish for Common Sense is actually "sunt förnuft”, not “IKEA”. Swedish Liars!
[2] That and PlayValue Toys where we would while away a rainy day “testing” the trampolines. It took them about ten years to figure out this parental-hack and cordon off the trampoline door with a sign reading “Please ask for Assistance”. They should check their sales data - I bet they will see a drop in their Play Mobile and Schleich figurine purchases right around this time.
Unsurprisingly, the IKEA ball pit has since been decommissioned – “de-balled” if you will (a “vasektomi"?). Though somehow the other lawless indoor playrooms miraculously survived the pandemic. See: Cosmic (Mis)adventures.
[3] “Ikea affirms bid to ditch Swedish food brands”, The Local Sweden, 2012…but not soon enough to avoid “Horsemeat found in Ikea meatballs”, CBC, 2013. Failed attempt to get ahead of the problem?
Note that the meatballs are called HUVUDROLL. Aside from how droll it is that this name includes the word “droll” (As in: “isn’t droll that you are eating horse?”), HUVUDROLL means “Main Actress”. What the actual….with these names??
[4] On this point…to the person who invented the ubiquitous Allen key (I am talking to you, William G. Allen of Hartford, Connecticut) …I have notes.
[5] This can be tricky when you work for your partner “professsionally”. As is the accidental use of nicknames in board meetings. Isn’t that right Sweet-Pea? (Yes, actually happenned.)