The Furniture Store of Tomorrow

I lost my IKEA virginity this weekend.

I thought, living 160 miles away from the nearest IKEA, I could let my guard down and not worry about the Swedish furniture retailer's siren song. But then friends started doing it. They would tell me about their amazing experiences, but in such vague terms it was hard to "feel" it. But me? Nah, I don't mind waiting and collecting my furniture a little bit here, a little bit there. I have a couch--what more do I need? A couple side tables... alright! Good enough! Some homemade plywood stuff from many years ago...

Well, it turns out I needed some chairs in a hurry. And I don't have the kind of vehicle that would allow hauling hoity-toity pre-assembled furniture. And I don't have gobs of money spilling out of my wallet. And... damn, Scandanavians are cool. And I love Swedish meatballs. I got sucked in. Who could blame me?

IKEA is amazing. Scary and amazing. They could lay tracks for an automatic peoplemover and charge admission. This is definitely The Furniture Store of Tomorrow. Every step in this store is carefully planned and choreographed; every font selected on purpose; every color used to elicit a specific emotion or reaction. Information pods. Puzzle stations. "Shortcuts." Lost? Look at the map--it tells you exactly where you will be next, even if it doesn't help you know where you are now. The in-store Swedish cuisine restaurant (and cafe!) promises to be around the next bend, never more than an overhead sign away. The peoplemover takes you right there, hands you a tray, and scoops you ten neat little meatballs before you realize you're not looking at furniture and home decor anymore.

But that's not even half of The Furniture Store of Tomorrow experience. That was just the opening act. Foreplay. A mere cattle chute before the big ride. When you finish your meatballs at 10:30 in the morning, you are strapped into a shopping cart that would only be commonplace to a European--all four wheels are independently swiveling! No fixed axles! You can shop around in perfect circles! Feel like pushing your cart sideways? At and angle? In constant pirhouttes? Please do! Steer your cart around the track with a stream of humanity. Grab your items. Watch the young newlywed brides and coeds and young moms in their casual Saturday shopping jeans. This place is paradise.

And now the big reveal, the money shot, the climax. You thought THAT was The Furniture Store of Tomorrow? That was just the salad course. That was just the introductory movie before the ride. You have not yet even penetrated the real experience. Welcome to the Self Service Furniture Warehouse. As the stream of humanity empties out into the sea of 3-story palette shelves, you drift into a Choose Your Own Adventure. Used to getting lost at Home Depot? You better get ready to hunker down here for a few days. If what lies behind you was choreographed within an inch of its life, the Self Storage Furniture Warehouse is purposely designed as a freeform free-for-all. Did you keep score with your IKEA half pencil on your IKEA scorecard? If not, you have a lot of searching to do. Forgot to grab an extra cart back there? Good luck navigating your purchases through the warehouse! Scale doesn't exist here. If IKEA sold houses or cars, they would be on the shelves, disassembled into "flat pack" boxes for your handling convenience. What can't IKEA flat pack? Is the Arc of the Covenant in here, and if so, is it in one box or two? Does it come in Alne Natural? Don't forget to compare the label on the box with that on the bin. It's on the sign.

The experience is not complete. Now you must wait in line... to leave. Rather than seeing long checkout lines as a liability, the Furniture Store of Tomorrow sees it as an opportunity to discourage you back into shopping. We have ATMs! We have a restaurant! A child care center! Restrooms! Comfy couches! YOU HAVE NO NEED TO LEAVE THE FURNITURE STORE OF TOMORROW. YOU ARE NOT DONE SHOPPING. START OVER. MORE MEATBALLS. MORE FURNITURE. YOU ARE MINE NOW.

All Souls

Whatever became of Halloween? I remember a time when trick-or-treating was a time-honored tradition (whatever the hell that means). Suburban residential streets would be filled with little kids in plastic and fabric costumes with their baggies or pumpkin baskets or pillow cases swaying to and fro. Adult overseers would watch from the sidewalk as their little goblin and princess skittered up the driveway to the front door of some 70's Bradyesque monstrosity covered in plastic decorations and the salvaged remains of the smashed jackolanterns the neighborhood miscreants had tormented the night before. This is the way it worked. This is the fun that was Halloween. This was the kickoff of the Halloween-to-Easter Candy Season. This was the pinnacle of the elementary school haute couture fashion season. But now? I was at a party in a neighborhood where there were hundreds of pleasant suburban houses mere feet apart--in fact, my first comment upon seeing this neighborhood months before was, "wow, this would be a great place to trick-or-treat!" It was one of those neighborhoods you could go back over two or three times with a different costume and really rake in the calories. But despite beautiful weather and the obligatory "we're open for business" lit jackolantern, we had all of four small groups of trick-or-treaters. Maybe ten kids, tops. Those were the kind of numbers we were used to living in a dark brown house at the top of a dead-end street on a hill back in Massachusetts (it was nearly impossible to even see the house as your approached it). It was pathetic.

What is motivating this cultural shift? Are parents fearful for their kids' safety? I remember when I was a kid there was the real danger of cars running over trick-or-treaters, but last night I could have driven up the front lawns of every damn house in the subdivision and not hit a single costumed child. And there were the annual scares about needles and razor blades in Halloween candy, which required parents to forensically analyze every Snickers and Reese's Peanut Butter Cup for hairline cuts in the wrappers, and immediately throw out anything that was in a hand-assembled giftie bag rather than a factory-sealed wrapper. Is it the religious component? All those families that don't believe in celebrating a "devil's holiday"... as if the devil wasn't the Mars corporation that makes the candy they're all eating at the church's alternative "harvest social" that night? Want a conversation stopper on Halloween? Just repeat what the little girl in front of me in line at the Rite Aid said to the woman at the counter when asked what she was going to be tonight: "oh, we don't celebrate Halloween." Silence. Perhaps it's the childhood obesity epidemic? Parents worry about one night of chocolate orgy but are oblivious as Jacob and Madison swim in Mountain Dew and chocolate milk the rest of the year. What happened to kids having a fun fucking night of dressing up and eating candy while supervised by vigilant parents in a non-threatening, non-satanic envionment? Is that so fucking hard that we have to just stop doing it? You people suck.

Anyway, I was a moth wrapped in spiderweb being attacked by a huge stuffed spider. The idea was great but the execution was lacking, and it broke my #1 rule for costumes: I have to be able to sit down. So the spider spent most of the evening on the floor, and my antennae kinda hurt, so for most of the evening I was a ball of spider web.