I visited IKEA for the first time - I thought I would never get out
A journalist decided to head to IKEA to pick up some bits but their venture into the flagship store on Oxford Street turned into a true trial by ordeal
Captain Jack Sparrow once said 'the deepest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers'. I propose that the second deepest layer is reserved for the IKEA on London's Oxford Street.
I was raised in New Zealand which has never had a IKEA. I'd always considered this a disadvantage given the rave reviews I'd heard about the retailer. Now, as IKEA prepares to unveil its flagship store in Auckland later this year, I feel more like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - burdened with the knowledge of an impending disaster yet powerless to prevent it.
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My journey to IKEA, much like the road to hell, was paved with good intentions.
In need of a new ice cube tray and a laptop case, and having a day off on a Monday, I decided to venture to IKEA on Oxford Street to see what all the hype was about. Being a fan of homewares and shopping, I didn't anticipate anything could go wrong.
Upon nearing the entrance, generic house music blasted from the shop at a volume comparable to a jet engine during takeoff. This should have been a warning sign, but I dismissed it - after all, I always carry noise-cancelling headphones for such eventualities, reports the Express.
The top floor of the building was unremarkable - a few Halloween items and some garishly coloured merchandise were all that was on display. However, it was when I ventured into the depths of the building that the full grandeur of IKEA was unveiled to me.
This shop is not just enormous, but also a maze. Each impersonal bedroom display leads to another and then another, with no space to take a breather.
I was on the hunt for ice cube trays, but all I could find were office spaces and daybeds. Even in the kitchen displays, everything but what I needed was available.
About 10 minutes into my journey through the shop, I decided to cut my losses and make an exit. If only it had been that straightforward.
My wanderings had disoriented me and thrown off my sense of direction. I couldn't remember where I'd descended the escalator, and every attempt to backtrack led me to yet another corner laden with flat-pack furniture that I'd never seen before.
At one point, I followed a sign pointing left to the exit, only to encounter another sign directing me right back where I'd come from.
That day, I clocked up 12,000 steps, at least half of which were spent trying to navigate my way out of IKEA.
IKEA is peppered with what I assume are intended to be endearing slogans. During my wanderings, I stumbled upon one that smugly read 'savour the good times'.
I found myself wondering when these 'good times' were supposed to kick in, as by this point I'd been underground for at least half an hour and hadn't encountered a single one.
I stumbled upon a peculiar section dedicated to plants. Ivy and succulents were perched on shelves, their tags indicating the amount of sunlight they required to thrive.
They seemed to share my predicament: trapped underground in a labyrinth of showrooms devoid of any windows, yearning for sunlight.
Just when I was on the brink of surrender, contemplating curling up under one of the duvets displayed on the countless beds, I took a left turn and there it was - the long-awaited escalator leading to freedom.
Had it not been teeming with people, I would have bounded up two steps at a time, but instead, I leaned against the railing and swore never to return.
IKEA does have its merits - I didn't find anything I needed, and I'll never step foot in the store again, but I will certainly be browsing their website for odds and ends.
As long as I can remain safely within the confines of my home, I will be marked safe from IKEA.