LIFE CHANGE - DAY #1

My friend decides to change my life.  Yes, indeed, twice in one day she changes my life.  Today, Life Change #1: My friend takes me to IKEA.

IKEA is a gargantuan home goods store that resembles a theme park.  First of all, this store has its own road.  I know this because we are tooling along, passing other stores and strip malls, when we encounter a rotary (round-about to everyone outside of New England), and the GPS announces, "Continue straight on IKEA Way."

The parking rivals commuter lots, and, despite it being a weekday morning, the place is already packed.  There are signs everywhere: ENTER, WELCOME, ENTRANCE, EXIT, CARTS HERE... The best thing about the signs (a trend that continues inside the building) is that they're bilingual: English / Swedish.  Around here, despite being close to Canada, all of our signs are bilingual in English and Spanish.  Swedish is foreign and fascinating and unexpected (to me, anyway), and it makes me feel like we're on a trip somewhere outside of good old Stoughton, Massachusetts.

The building itself is a complex the size of a small town.  Thank goodness there are arrows on the floor because I'm lost as soon as we step off the escalator.  I feel like a kid at Christmas; my eyes are wide, my head cranes around, and my mouth is hanging open in amazement.  I've never seen anything quite like this.

As we move from section to section, each display is as cool or cooler than the one before it.  My friend is redoing her kitchen, so she is scrutinizing how the finished kitchen showcases look, snapping pictures here and there.  I am considering downsizing, so I pore over the small-spaces displays.

We round a corner to find chairs hanging from the wall.  Amazing.  Years ago we saw a chair tacked to the wall of the ICA (Institute of Contemporary Art) in Boston, and some lazy artist claimed it was his/her Great Artistic Accomplishment.  These IKEA chairs have more artistic flair than the ICA ever could, and I am fascinated all over again.  This place isn't just a well-organized warehouse; this place is a work of art.

Eventually we come to some sheep skins and cow hides.  My friend starts pointing at the animal-skin rugs and says to me, "Pose with them! Lie down!  Stick out your butt! I'll take your picture!"  I don't know what people around us are thinking, but honestly if it weren't so crowded, we'd probably do it.  Why not?  We're in IKEA and everything is Swedish and we don't know these people.  It's a once-in-a-lifetime photo-op.

After the lighting department, where we play with a Death-Star-like lamp that opens wide into a chandelier then closes back into a spaceship, we hit the Motherlode of mind-blowing proportions: The Warehouse.  The Warehouse is the part of IKEA where you pick up the stuff you picked out in the showrooms.  It is massive.  Boxes are piled high on steel platforms, and the place goes on for what seems like miles.  Even the warehouse end-caps are artfully displayed, and the floors are pristine.  Yes, even the storage facility at IKEA is spotless.

We buy a few things, although I am infinitely glad that I left my credit card at home and only brought a little cash with me.  I could easily lose my life savings at the hands of these crafty Swedes.  I am slightly shell-shocked as we make our way back to my friend's SUV.  Even the lot is clean, clear, well-lit, and safe.  I get into the passenger seat absently, still dazed from my first IKEA experience.  Thank goodness my friend is driving because my wide eyes and slack jaw would probably lead us into an accident.

I'm not sure IKEA Shock is a valid defense, but, at the moment, I really am in shock.  My life has changed.  Thanks, my friend, and watch out, IKEA.  When I downsize, you're not going to know what hit you.