You mostly dread IKEA. You might as well admit it, so that we can move on to the business at hand: how to get through it without a migraine or a full-on psychotic break.
First, only go when you need something specific, having looked at the catalog ahead of time. Arrive having prepared yourself psychologically for an endurance event. It is not recommended that you take it on cold. A bit like I imagine marathon running to be: you carb up, drink plenty of fluids, wear comfortable clothing and shoes, train for 9 months ahead of time, and know that on the day you will keep going until you reach the finish line. Hopefully someone somewhere along the way will hand you a banana. But you certainly don't wander by one morning and say, gee, I think I'll run this marathon today.
IKEA has a system: you walk through the store in a predetermined path, which takes you through the entire store. At the entrance, you can pick up a map with the store's layout by floor, and a dotted line with arrows shows you the path to take that will get you past all the departments, past the pick-up area, and to the cashier. Problem is, walking the entire store will give you sensory overload, and by the time you get about two thirds through the first floor, you're fried. You do not, under any circumstances, do the entire walk. Even if you are the kind of person who takes on Black Friday at 4 a.m. and shops until the following midnight. Well, maybe if you can handle that, you can handle IKEA. Maybe.
I think I went through the entire store methodically once, when I was married to Mario. This was before either one of us knew any better. I don't want to exaggerate the effects of that shopping trip, but he and I are no longer married. Draw your own conclusions.
At the entrance, pick up a map and study it. Carefully determine what departments you need to visit, and the fastest way to get to said departments. There are some shortcuts, which are marked as smaller dotted lines on the map. Lay out your path ahead of time. You don't want to be caught unawares between departments, nor do you want to make the mistake of simply wandering along expecting to come upon what you're looking for, you might be set upon by a Rodent Of Unusual Size. When you take the shortcuts, or if you have to traverse one department to get to another, do not look up, do not be distracted, do not answer if someone calls your name in dulcet tones. Consider leaving your people behind if they get mired along the way. Save yourself, and then call for help. Leave no man behind might work for things like war and natural disasters, but it is a fatally flawed strategy at IKEA.
Pick up one of the tape measures provided, or bring your own, including a chart with the measurements from home. It is pointless to put yourself through this if you have not measured the spaces in your home, office, brothel, or whatever it is you're furnishing.
Do not touch anything. There will be many children, some of whom will be snotty and fondling everything, and their harried parents will not be able or willing to keep their germy little hands off the merch. The parents will be glassy-eyed, worn out, sprawled inelegantly on the display beds, slightly desperate around the gills, hair out of place, makeup looking 16 hours old. You will wonder if they'll make it. They might not. It's ok. Move on. Always move on.
There will be a woman whose face says 20-something, but whose overflowing kankles will say 65 and never walked a day in her life, who will have surrendered. Her family will be around her, encouraging her, begging her to please get up, they're almost done and there will be Swedish meatballs at the end of the walk. Her gay cousin will be dancing and singing to her to make her laugh, like he used to when they were children, but her face will be set in a flat, zombie mask. It's too little, too late. You will see in her eyes that she is considering letting herself just die. You will make a mental note to walk more because you do not want to end up looking like that, and then move on. Always move on.
Now might be a good time to eat that banana, to fortify you.
You will stop at the showroom departments that concern you, and those departments only. This is not the time for flights of fancy. You are not at the supermarket, where you go to buy potatoes and end up with diapers and walnuts as well, none the worse for wear. Many have tried it, few have succeeded with relationships intact. Move on. Always move on.
At the pre-determined departments, you will focus on what you need. For example, my mom and I went to buy a bed. We made it to the bedroom department, though I did think I lost mom a couple of times. Finally, I resorted to holding her hand. We looked at all the beds, including the one we had settled on. We did not change our minds. If you change your mind, you must retreat and regroup. Leave, go home, have some tea, revisit the catalog, measure everything again, and a few weeks later, go back to the store. I know, it's like going for your second tour in Iraq, but you can do it. You signed up for this, you don't get to back out now. Man up.
Now that you have found the item you were looking for and have confirmed that this is indeed the item you will be purchasing, you will either find it on the showroom floor (if it's a small item), or you will have to write down which isle and bin holds the item in the self-serve area, or you will need a piece of paper from one of the surprisingly calm IKEA sales people. In the latter case, you will have to pay for the item first, then go pick it up.
So now you have your list of items, you've written down the aisle and bin numbers, you've picked up one of those flat carts and you head to the self-serve aisles to pick up your furniture. The self-serve department is aisle after aisle of floor to warehouse ceiling of flat cardboard boxes. On the bottom are the boxes that you pull into your cart, and above are stacked the extras. This is not where you want to be when the big one hits. The self-serve area is the empowering part of the trip, or it would be, except you find that the boxes you want weigh between 50 and 100 pounds. This defeats the purpose of self-serve, but if you've made it this far, it means you are a leader, a resourceful person, someone who will not be stopped by a little thing like not being strong enough to carry your quarry.
You will chase down one of the guys in a yellow shirt, work gloves and back support belt. But you have to be fast, because they will not wander down the aisles looking for people to help, and right when you need help they will all be gathering in an area not accessible to the public for some kind of pow wow. You will also have to be ruthless. Several people will try to pull your yellow shirt guy away from you, mewling for help with heavy items. "He will help you in just a minute, as soon as he's done helping me," you will say in a firm but gentle voice. You will reassure them that their turn is coming, but that you are first. After all, you were the one who threw dignity to the wind and literally ran to grab the yellow shirt before he crossed the line into the restricted area. No pain, no gain, people.
Once you have your items stacked on your flat cart, it is time to head to the cashier. The items look nothing like the furniture you purchased. They are long, flat cardboard containers and maneuvering the cart will feel like piloting a fuel tanker. The boxes have surprisingly sharp corners, and if you ever had a cardboard cut I think you can figure out what can happen when 200 lbs of stuff rolls towards you, cardboard corner leading the way. You must be careful, but if you amputate someone's leg at the knee, call them a sissy for whining about a paper cut, and move on. Always move on.
At long last, blood dripping from that sharp cardboard corner, you make it to the cashier. There is only one person ahead of you. Yes! Even the fact that that person has purchased 12 or so fluorescent light tubes which all have to be removed from their box and then replaced for some reason, one by one, does not deter you. You are here, you will wait, you will pay for your furniture. By the time it's your turn, there are 6 people behind you. No matter. You have blood on your packaging, that is a signal that you are not to be messed with. Not now. Not ever.
It is almost over. All that is left is arranging for delivery (heck, if you can't put those boxes onto the cart, you certainly will not be able to put them in your car) and for assembly. I strongly recommend both. The services are not very expensive and you do not want unproven friends coming over to "help" you to assemble your new furniture. It is almost inevitable that the furniture will come out crooked, unstable, and several bolts and screws will be left over. Your friends will try to tell you that IKEA adds extras, just in case, but you will know better. This, by the way, is best case scenario. Worst case, the furniture is half assembled, upside down and inside out, too heavy for you to move out of the way, and now the assembly service refuses to do anything to save you. Swell. This is a guide for surviving IKEA, but take my advice on this and save your friendships. You might need them for other things, like deaths and marriages.
And then, all of a sudden, you're free. You have purchased your furniture, you have scheduled delivery and assembly, and you have not bought six cinnabuns while you waited in line to achieve said scheduling, and you burst out of the door, into the massively overcrowded pickup area, where people jostle for a front spot while their loved ones play bumper cars to get a spot for loading. But because you have decided to have your stuff delivered, you can skip (literally, skip) past them and to the parking lot, hop into your car, and head home, knowing that you have achieved much and spent little.
