serious

Ikea

I've just been to Ikea. This is a soulsapping exercise at the best of times, but given that I was feeling fairly low when I left, I feel positively soiled. I feel like I've spent the last two hours naked mud-wrestling with Bernard Manning.

Partly this is because in addition to the usual dayglow-steel-shed experience . . . it being nowhere near even starting to be December, they've filled the place with ersatz corporate christmas cheer. Obviously I responded by throttling the management team with each others' intestines [1] and feeding the remains to rabid tabloid journalists, but that doesn't erase the original crime.

Anyway. I now (should) have some shelves strong enough to take a significant number of records.


[1] OK. I'm lying. I admit it.
  • Current Mood: ikeicidal
You're probably supposed to shave the affected parts and paint them with Jeyes Fluid.

I think I might mind the places slightly less if they did foster sturdiness and self-reliance in the customers. Hell, you'd expect a little Strength Through Joy given the decor. Even VNV Nation on the PA would do.

Instead you get smugness, whingeing and useless bloody staff.

"Stop blaming the blasted computer, you snivelling worms! The furniture I didn't inherit I made myself! Get out the back of the building and make me a Bolok you red-shirted malingerer!"

(I'm sorry. Was I ranting?)
I feel like I've spent the last two hours naked mud-wrestling with Bernard Manning.

AAARRRGGHHHH, MY BRAIN, IT BURNS!!!
Erratum
Considering the sheer volume of your ridiculously huge record collection the last section should read:

Anyway. I now (should) have some shelves strong enough to take a significant number of records [2].

[1] OK. I'm lying. I admit it.
[2] OK. I'm lying. I admit it.