Swedish hell

So, after a protracted moving in session it is time to get some furniture. That means Ikea, despite the fact that there’s less wood in most of their kitchens that there is in the standard vintage armchair.

My boss R joked with me that Ikea was the cause of more divorces than adultery. I laughed and told him it couldn't be that bad; but my goodness he was right. I haven’t been that stressed since facing a triple deadline and a printer out of toner so I couldn’t edit properly*.

I’d reserved a UHaul for the occasion, a moving truck with easy loading. But when I walked down to the depot (30 minutes) I found they wouldn’t accept a British driving licence. Not even with a passport to provide photo ID. That’s a first for US rental firms, which I’ve found are very good about such pleasantries.

So there I was, the day off and no way of getting furniture home and facing another night on the godawful couch I’d been sleeping on. This was not going to happen, so I wandered over (another 20 minutes) to a car rental place I’d used before who I knew accepted our licences.

In no time (and at five times the cost) I took a 24 hour ownership of an SUV, a Chrysler Aspen, to get me to and from Ikea. My goodness, it was not an easy car to drive. A behemoth the size of a tank, with suspension made of recycled pogo sticks if the ride was anything to go by. I spent ten minutes and a conversation with the renter before I worked out how to put it in gear and then ‘enjoyed’ a very dodgy ride over the Bay Bridge, being cut up by every driver who sensed fear.

Got to Ikea and started picking out furniture. Now there’s a massive con job going on at Ikea. Yes, my bed frame was inexpensive, but the mattress was 150 per cent more expensive and the slats of the mattress frame cost nearly as much. Say what you like about the Swedes (and that would include the food’s mostly inedible, the women aren’t that attractive and beer is bloody expensive) but they know how to turn a buck.

So, wielding two trolleys full of flat pack furniture, I headed to the car park. A car park that some git has decided to build in a dome fashion. Great for controlling water run off, slightly less good for controlling two trolleys of stylish but functional furniture that try and gouge your paintwork (and deposit) when trundling downhill.

Then a problem; I couldn’t open the boot. While the chap at the car hire place had put the seats down for me he hadn’t explained how to get the damned tailgate open. So I wedged the trolleys wheels down and went through the instruction manual – all 512 pages of it. Not a fun thing to do in 90 degree heat after a stressful afternoon.

After 20 minutes I found the answer. Press the unlock button on the key fob twice. What sadistic bastard thought that one up? I mean, surely, unlock means unlock. But no, it’s more complicated than that.

So after some discrete effing and blinding, I got the boot open and installed my furniture, plus a few odds and ends because lets face it, you can’t leave Ikea without 50 tea lights and a chrome lamp.

Then it was off home to unpack the car and assemble my new bed et al. The bed was simple. The bedside table not easy but could be worse. The vertical storage rack came with no instructions however. Now I’m with Mitch Benn on this. Sweden may be full of good furniture but there’s always got to be something missing – they may not rape and pillage any more but they’re still bloody Vikings.

* Editing for me means printing out. Sod the paperless office, it’s much easier to see your mistakes in print than it is on the screen.