The Wake

When I moved to Minneapolis a few years ago, something struck me as odd: there was no Ikea. Trying to furnish my fifth college apartment, it really hit me. There was no Ikea. Speaking to friends back in Los Angeles, I finally came to grips. There was no Ikea! Since my undergrad, I’d grown to know and rely on Ikea like a particle-board crutch –-keeping my place looking good and my pocket book alive. Somehow with more Scandinavians, Volvos and lutefisk than you can shake a stick at, the Twin Cities had missed out the biggest thing to come out of Sweden since the Borg.

Thankfully Minnesota is Ikea-less no more. Embracing the Twin Cities, Ikea plunked down a store right by Mall of America –-which, with the light rail almost complete, is virtually a part of our neighborhood. Because I had the day off, I went over to the grand opening at 9 a.m. From their media blitz, I knew the first hundred people had a chance at winning a chair.

They didn’t need to bribe me. Not having Ikea made me think of the chain in almost spiritual terms. Its arrival rivaled the second coming. I was going to be there.

Alas, arriving at 8:45 a.m. my visions of Buddhist monks placing lays on my shoulders proved false –- but there were lots of people. Apparently I wasn’t the only one angling for a free chair. I should have realized it was going to be crowded when I heard both Minnesota Public Radio and National Public Radio announcing its triumphant arrival. Even without the enticement of the chair, I pressed on.

The line itself was a piece of work. Thousands, no kidding, thousands of people were already there. Forget the Star Tribune’s lowball estimate, when the doors opened at 9 a.m. the number must have topped six or seven thousand shoppers. In some kind of consumer housewarming orgy, it seemed that every man, woman and child with the day off in Minnesota dropped by. I wish I could say I got in quickly, but even with the line moving at a steady pace, I entered at 9:50 a.m.

The line entertainment wasn’t bad. The imported Swedish manager told us all about how blessed he was to welcome us, choirs sang, clowns made balloon animals and they had a log which I assumed represented particle board. The staff challenged us to beat the Russians’ (store) and eat over 6000 hot dogs in one day — which I took to be a silly notion until I saw the $1 hot dog and 22oz soda deal (I had two). Many staff and customers donned flower wreaths that were sold outside the store. In a way it felt like I had entered a consumer Woodstock.

When the store opened, the first five people (overnighters) were presented $2000 gift certificates for their devotion to the Temple of the Allen Wrench. I scoffed at their obsession, until I noticed the store had brought out beds for them. Oh well, the disc jockey started playing ABBA, and I kept on smiling.

As I entered the store, the staff chanted “I-KEA” with fascist fervor while handing out free gift cards, cookies, pencils and paper to take down warehouse locations; a paramedic entered the store carrying a defibrillator. Indeed, even after sitting in the sun for over an hour, I was pumped for my Ikea experience. Targets and Walmart’s cartel on cheap furniture is no more. The people’s cheap furniture store has arrived!

After an hour looking at the cute furniture (with equally cute names) and stylish interior designs, I was famished.

Those in the know, know Ikea’s best kept secret is the café with its static menu of well-made food. Yet again, the sheer numbers inside the store lent to a twenty-minute queue for their trademark Swedish meatballs and lingonberry juice. The smart deal is the seafood rich “West Coast Salad” which, for$6, contends with any salad you’d find at Oceanaire. Don’t forget the Swedish apple pie.

Of course, all the fun food and shopping softens you up for the third part of the journey –-the cavernous warehouse where you pick up the day’s kill. You know the store’s worked its magic over you when this sounds like an acceptable idea, hoisting heavy, awkward boxes of wood onto your cart that assemble easily (you hope) into those nifty Swede numbers you saw in the showroom. The live band brought for opening day was completely lost in the warehouse, its sound drifting faintly through a room that’d be too large for a KISS concert.

The day’s experience with massive lines wouldn’t be complete without a bang, and it came with the check-out line - where, amidst another 30 minute wait, the staff raked the line with free cookies, candy and popsicles. The in-line entertainment continued when an ominous “Code 99 – Children’s Department!” was called over the stores PA and then cancelled three times over (I later found it stands for ‘lost child’).

I exited Ikea at 1:30 pm, drained, tired and satisfied - like a new person. Not completely new, rather, I returned to where I was before moving to Minneapolis. I felt restored. Then again, I’m probably overstating any life changing implications – but let me tell you: after four hours turning an allen wrench, my apartment looks a lot better!

Bobak is a third-year law student and is the GAPSA Vice President for Administrative Affairs & Representative to Board of Regents. He can be reached at haer0014@umn.edu.