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The following letter was
written in 1988 following a trip to the newly opened IKEA
store near Warrington. Since that time, things have changed
but read on to find out how it was then. At that time our
boys were still very young.
The Manager,
IKEA Limited,
910 Europa Boulevard,
Westbrook,
Warrington. WA5 5TY
Dear Sir,
We were most impressed by
your 1988 catalogue and decided to visit your store after
our usual Saturday shopping trip to Crewe. We drove up the
motorway from Sandbach and it didn't take us long to reach
the A49 junction on the M62. My wife opened the catalogue
and directed from the roundabout. The map "on page 195" was
on page 197 and looked really simple to follow.
"First right", she said, "and it should be straight
ahead".
It wasn't, but we followed another family through the
industrial estate because they seemed to know where they
were going. Presently, we reached a dead end and the other
car performed a graceful "U" turn and headed back the way
we'd come. Obviously we'd missed the turn but he knew the
way and we followed. The other car stopped, but this wasn't
the place! We carried on and noticed that the other car
followed. We passed a parked car full of people who seemed
to be staring at a familiar looking catalogue.
"Try turning right and going further along the A49"
suggested my wife.
We did so and the first car followed. So did the second.
"The map definitely indicates right" said my wife and the
boys screamed gleefully in the back. We passed a parked car
full of people who were peering intently at a map. The car
in front went twice round the roundabout then joined the
back of our convoy. We went straight on, passing a car full
of people who were peering at a catalogue.
"Slow down" suggested my wife who was apparently unaware of
the six cars nose to tail behind us, the drivers all reading
maps. "It must be here somewhere" she said, helpfully. We
continued on at a fair pace then slowed suddenly to a crawl
as everyone saw the sign at the same time. We led the line
of ten cars round the traffic island and into an enormous
car park, which appeared to be full.
"Head for the overflow car park" ordered my wife, shouting
above the screams of the baby. There was no signpost so we
drove straight on. Finally, we saw the space. So did the
fifteen other drivers, but we won.
Having strapped the baby into his buggy and ensured that the
other two monsters were at heel we set off towards the
building. It was a squeeze to get the buggy between the
steel posts but we managed it with not a millimetre to
spare. Lucky we no longer have the double buggy! The wheels
rattled on the metal grid in front of the entrance. We knew
it was the entrance, although it bore no sign, because
everyone in front was hopping across the grid on the steel
"footprints" which were fastened there. A bit like
hopscotch.
On the right a lot of screaming little monsters were
drowning in a glass room full of coloured plastic balls. We
joined the queue to immerse our two boys in there, then
consulted the map in reception. Upstairs for bedroom
furniture it appeared we would have to go. The automatic
gate didn't open and the baby received the full benefit on
his forehead. Someone must have pushed a button because, as
the baby's cries reached a crescendo, the gate swung
open.
We dragged the buggy upstairs, since the lift was obviously
not working and my wife doesn't like lifts in any case. It
took us an age to walk around looking for the "Robin" desk
which we wanted to buy. We knew what we wanted but the lady
had said we needed to find the ticket number which, for some
unknown reason, was not listed in the catalogue. The girl at
the enquiry desk was very helpful and directed us straight
to the desk. Exactly what we wanted and there was the label.
"5D" it said but we had no pen - hope we can remember it.
Now, where do we find the kit of parts?
The warehouse, so we were assured, was downstairs. We
hoisted the baby in his buggy and stumbled down the steps.
It wasn't called "warehouse", however, but "self service
bargains" and we looked around for five minutes in case we
had the wrong place but no, there was rack 5 and THERE, was
a pack marked "5D". Unfortunately, we couldn't lift it.
Other people had nice big
trolleys and, after a little wandering, we found one, too.
The damn wheels didn't lock, however. Consequently, each
attempt to drag a "5D" package onto it resulted in the
trolley going on a little journey of its own. Eventually we
succeeded in loading the package and pushed it towards the
exit. It was at that moment my wife realised that the 20
minutes allowed in the "ball room" had expired and she had
to collect the boys immediately. The desk was to be a
Christmas present and, since they mustn't see it, she would
park the boys in the video room then return to pay the bill.
I couldn't pay because the cheque card was in her name. Nor
could I collect the boys because THEY were registered in her
name. I waited at the check-out and watched the queues grow
longer. Eventually my wife returned, quite breathless.
"I couldn't go through the check-out queues and into
reception from the outside so I went back the way we came"
she gasped. "That meant running up those stairs, through the
hall then down the other stairs. I had to climb a barrier to
get past the turnstiles on the entrance and finally reached
the boys just ten minutes late. John has bruised his ankle
on the sharp edge of a ball and Paul has wet his trousers
because he couldn't leave the room to use the toilet!
We pushed the buggy and the trolley towards the payment
counter. The gap wasn't large enough to allow the trolley
past and it seemed that we were expected to lift this
enormous "5D" package onto the conveyer, hold it vertical as
the belt dragged it along, then write a cheque with a free
hand whilst dragging the baby buggy and trolley through as
well. We managed but I pulled a muscle while heaving the
package back onto the trolley at the other end of the
conveyer, which was several feet higher than the front
end!
Outside, at last, my wife took the baby and went back to
collect the boys while I pushed the trolley towards the car.
The trolley wouldn't go between the steel posts. I abandoned
my expensive purchase and ran to the car which was as far
away as it could possibly be.
Having driven back in the car and reversed it into a free
space I discovered that there was no way I could get that
package over the steel posts and into the car boot by
myself. In a state of final anger and frustration I ripped
open the box and threw the pieces of wood the last four feet
into the boot, drove the car to its far away parking place
then walked back to join wife and kids in the reception hall
to have a rather belated lunch.
The one-way barrier was reluctant to let the buggy through
but this time we were prepared for it and stared pointedly
at the girl behind the desk until she pressed the hidden
button. The lift was still out of order, as witnessed by the
row of elderly people stacked in wheelchairs just beyond the
barrier. I wondered to myself just how they had squeezed the
wheelchairs past the steel posts, outside. Also, if there
was a fire, how quickly they could wheel themselves to the
exit and over the conveyor belts at the check-out.
To call the restaurant "full" would be an understatement.
The room was a seething mass of people and a queue of
starving families snaked in, out and in again. Maybe they
had been trapped here for days!
"We'll eat at the motorway services" I announced above the
noise and it took us only another ten minutes to make our
way back to the exit and force our way past the check-out
counters with baby in buggy and two hungry boys in tow.
Twelve miles further on, in the relative stillness of the
motorway cafe, John said "I didn't see you buy anything,
daddy, does that mean we'll be going back again next
week?"
"Not likely", I growled through wonderful, expensive mushy
peas and chips. (The exit was marked clearly "EXIT" and
there were no stairs, barriers or conveyers to climb but,
just for the hell of it, we went out through the
entrance!)
Yours sincerely,
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