Ikea
Posted: Sun 2 January, 2005 Filed under: Customer Services, Sweary 3 Comments »What is it about Ikea? I’ve been three times now, and each time I reckon that the average IQ for the entire building is about 8. I’m including my own IQ in this average – but it’s not that much of a factor, considering the sheer number of people in the place.
Personally, I think a lot of Ikea’s stuff is bloody good. It’s just that buying it and getting through the store without aid of machetes and landmines is an utter cunt. If their website were any good – fuck it, even if their website were utter shite (Oh look, it is) but included some form of e-commerce (remember that terminology?) then I’d use the bloody thing. Instead it’s a sack of crap, and doesn’t actually even include some of the products they do. Guess what? The stuff we wanted was part of that section. Fuck it, we’re off to Ikea. Oh goody.
The problem with the place is that while the concept is great, the infrastructure is nothing short of fucking shit. The staff are International, to be charitable. Perhaps if you know Esperanto then you’ve a chance of getting sorted without resorting to sign-language and pop-eyes as a communication method. As it is, it’s like a Tower of Babel – multiple languages, and some impressive linguistic abilities. If you speak Swahili, or some obscure dialect from Papua New Guinea then you’re in with a shot of being served at Ikea. Effnic minorities are well served in this.
Unfortunately, Ikea’s concept seems to stick WAY too much in the hands of the general public, and they seem to be more comfortable with being spoon-fed stuff. Even the simple concepts like “getting your items in the car” seems to be beyond most of the motherfuckers. Rather than spreading themselves along the area, and standing back near the wall so people can make their way past, they all cram to the front where the cars are, as if they can book a space like that. No, instead it just blocks the entire fucking place for everyone else.
How more murders don’t happen every day in Ikea, I just don’t know – if I had to visit regularly, or God Forbid, work there, the place would be like a charnel house within minutes.