It's like mecca for Bogans. You know, the rule is you have to go there at least once in your life and pay homage to flat-packed furniture and clever Svveeeedishhhh rubber things.
There's no IKEA in Bogan-ville-ea. I think the Sveedish are ignoring us due to our penchance for outrageous drunken Karaoke nights that distastefully alter words in ABBA songs. Could be wrong, but it certainly can't have helped.
Recently, Brad the Tradie (BtT) and I were visiting the other side of the country (yes, our immunisations are up to date). Those in the West have not yet offended the Swedes. THEY have their own, very large, IKEA. It even has two eating areas AND the Swedish market food hall.
We felt the pull.
You can see an IKEA rise from the Bogan landscape like a big yellow and blue beacon...calling you to look at lounges, bookshelves and funny little stools. With excitement (having not been to any IKEA for a while) we navigated the buzzbox hirecar through the speed bumps and little whirly roundabouts, parked and fair RAN to the entry. We did have that tricky moment where BtT had to shove past a dawdling pregnant person and we also witnessed a very loud carpark argument between two life partners (blonde, funny accent, cargo pants....suspicious....)
You know 'that moment' when you start in an IKEA with the humungous book thing, your little pencil and list, the paper tape measure and yellow carry bag... the EXCITEMENT of it all! You breathe it in, ready. We were dressed appropriately. Thongs (rubber of course). Shorts. T-shirt. Minimal things to hold to allow for maximum touching of Swedish brilliance. Ready... Set. GO!!!!! GOOO!!!!!!!!!!
STOP!!! Crap, where are the loos?
Ok, we're good to go this time. Push past the little kids. Don't need a kitchen... oooo, noice handles on those doors though... ooo... clever!!! We don't have to stop and look at everything. Glance and prance. Glance and prance. Oooo!!! noice sofa, I'll just measure that. Ooo! Look what they're doing with double bunk kids beds these days! (No, we don't need it). What a great rug! (No, we're not buying it). Get OUT of my way kid. I'M IN IKEA.
Just on that...why don't people make more use of that nifty little room at the entrance where you dump your kids and shop in peace? There should be like, a rule or something, that MAKES people deposit their offspring in exchange for the pencil and tape measure. Especially relevant in the homewares section. Oopps! Another dinner set bites the dust. Wooopsie! I'm in my mid-thirties. I'm over dodging bullets in stores that offer childcare. I'm too busy deciphering the names of the items. Like a Dofflebonger bin and Floppenhunger entertainment unit. Can you imagine if we Bogan Aussies had invented IKEA:
"Ahhh, I'll have the .... ummm... Jim Beam poolroom shelves, the Kermit Green poof and a set of them beer glasses with the swirly on 'em. Oh, and put it all together luv. Me husband ain't that great at them flat-packs."
And the 'restaurant' wouldn't have $5 Swedish meatballs. It'd be meat pie n chips, a lammo and choice of beer or a glass of cardy. And there'd be TV's along that little track thing with the cricket and tennis on. Not fake TV's. BIG PLASMA ones.
And why don't they play ABBA in IKEA?
They sell any manner of Swedish food. Actually, I'd like to see the Swedish Chef Muppet in IKEA.... bom de bom de bom... ooooo DOP DOP DOP! Anyway, I hummed Dancing Queen quite loudly as I browsed. And giggled to myself at the way we always change the words in Mamma Mia to '....ever since the day we farted...'
And then when we got tired of things with funny names, small children bouncing on furniture and nodding approval at picture frames, we sighed, said 'hej da' and buzzed away, happy in the knowledge that if one day we need a bright orange slypendom, there'll be a cheap one at IKEA, packed up, ready to assemble.
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Super Trouper, ABBA. 1980.
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