Codder

Cape Cod Cabin Fever, Part II: Journey to Ikea

Isn't it funny how, while most people are dying to make there way back here, sometimes it is all you can do as a year-rounder to hop out of this lunatic sandbox?  Okay, that may seem a tad desperate, but they don't call it cabin fever for nothing! 

Last Sunday, the S/O and I decided to make the capitalist pilgrimage to the recently opened Ikea in Stoughton, MA.  If you are not an Ikea cult member and are not familiar with the store, it is a Swedish import selling modern, inexpensive furniture, home decor, appliances, bedding, lighting, chachkes and $.99 breakfasts.  Yep, breakfasts.  And cinnamon buns and, of course, Swedish meatballs.  Prior to leaving the house, I asked the S/O if she thought it would be like Vegas--feed 'em, keep 'em on site--don't give 'em a reason to leave. Would there be a bar, dancing girls and slots?  She just gave me that look she always gives me.

Anyway, it is a very popular European store with only a few locations dotting the US of A.  Like gay people, most of them are on the coasts with only a precious few in the heartland.

On the way there, I waxed nostalgic about the furniture stores I was frequently dragged to in my youth.  They were giant, hulking couch and table meccas unlike the smaller, mostly locally-owned stores on Cape Cod such as Barbo's (oh, damn that theme song!), Yarmouth Furniture and Gladstone.  Even In and La-z-boy in Hyannis are pretty small by off Cape standards.

I'm talking about the big boys I remember from my Worcester roots--Rotman's and Levitz.  My mother had something of a furniture fetish as evidenced by the old photos we poked through at Christmas time.  Cripes, there were some living room setups I don't even remember! She liked the endless possibilities the furniture stores offered.  I liked the new smell of the stores, the fake plastic TVs and stereo components intended to add depth and reality to the display. The eerie calm interrupted only by Musak and a salesguy named Russ.

The bigger furniture stores were cool because the displays were like separate rooms in a house.  It was like walking around a movie soundstage or a life-size Barbie townhouse ala the Twilight Zone.  The Cape Cod stores just don't have the space for this suspension of believe.

From what we heard, it sounded like the Ikea would be as big if not bigger--we just didn't know HOW big.  As we turned off the exit, we ran smack dab into a traffic jam you wouldn't believe!  Cars were backed up, crawling onto Ikea Way.  This kind of backup for Disney World? Okay.  Six Flags? Okay.  A Patriot's Game? Okay.  To come to the Cape? Okay.  But a Swedish furniture store? Not okay. 

We finally began to inch our way towards the huge blue and yellow mass looming in the distance.  As we neared the home stretch, we passed a Home Depot and Jordan's Furniture, neither of which must have been pleased by the arrival of their new low cost, imported neighbor. 

We decided to ditch the car a little further from the store than necessary--a wise decision that assisted in a speedy escape.

We entered the monstrous building via the parking garage and were whisked to the next floor on an escalator.  As we reached the top  we were pushed into a crowded foyer of couples and families with small children. The smell of warm cinnamon buns filled the air eliciting audible stomach growls from passers-by.  A second escalator beckoned, promising a speedy delivery to the showroom and a $5.99 herbed salmon dinner.

The S/O was entranced by the tear-off, disposable measuring sticks.  "Ow, how often do you wish you had one of these," she cooed.  Afraid of getting lost, I grabbed a combo map/blank shopping list.  There were even mini-golf score pencils to jot down your wants and needs.  I quickly realized I grabbed the wrong map when it said I was being escalated to the "segunda pisa".  Silly, me, I thought I was shopping in an Swedish store in America.   

As soon as the escalator stopped, we were swept into a current that pushed us through the various display rooms--I felt like a human herring forging my way up river.  Not liking crowds too much, I took my only solace in Olivia Newton-John piped in over the sound system, inquirying if I've "never been mellow."  Mellow in this place?   

It was chaos!  There were people everywhere and children running and bouncing and whining and crying and touching and poking everything in the store.  We had no idea where we were or how to get out--we just let the current carry us. 

As we have all the bureaus, plates, floor lamps and quilts we need and have made a pact to not buy anything we do not need, it was a rather quick furble* through the rest of the showroom and the self-service area. 

I can't say when we'll go back or if we ever will.  It was big like the old stores--dwarfed them in fact.  But a lot different.  Funny, they still have those silly plastic TVs and stereos.  They also have DVD players, laptops and photo printers--all with brand names etched on their plastic carcasses.  How weird is that?  And although I searched high and low, not one sales person with a name tag reading "Russ". 

Good or bad, it makes for quite the adventure!  But as much as I was itchin' to get off the Cape before, I think I'll stay put this weekend.

P.S. I hope you enjoy the photos of our crawl to the Ikea and the Ikea itself.  The S/O was concerned that we would be taken for terrorists as we photographed this giant blue hulk.  I assured  her that we in no way fit the racial profile.  Trust me.

*Furble is a sniglet.  It mostly refers to the maze-like path own weaves through roped off lines such as those at Disney or the Dunkin' Donut'.