The Ryanair feel on terr firma

I have discovered the on-ground equivalent of Ryanair. All the thrills of using Ryanair and never spending a moment in the sky means I paid a visit to Ikea near Ballymun in Dublin.

Its proximity to the airport means you can almost smell the aviation fuel.

I bought an armchair and a two-seater couch. It could never have been accomplished without the assistance of my cousin, Anne, who did all the donkey work. Not true, I pulled the carts, well one of them.

Anne, her three children and I, arrived in the Ikea car park at 19.00. We find a parking space quickly enough. Nothing too difficult or crazy. And in we go up an escalator or something like that. No steps just a moving way that brings you to the first floor. Land straight into the furniture department. Because I had been looking for a couch and armchair since April I decided this was the moment.

At a glance I knew what I did not want and then saw a few that were acceptable – more or less. It’s always that ‘more or less’ that makes it all so difficult. Place my bum in a number of chairs. Make my decision. Then I have to pick a fabric colour. The patterns are hanging up on a stand nearby. What next? It was here Anne’s expertise comes to the rescue. It is a matter of writing down all the details on a form that is supplied.

Then it’s off over to the storeroom but before you go there you have to pick up a special flat pack trolley. Where to next? And that’s where the information on that paper comes into its own. Anne has written down all the necessary numbers plus the coordinates. My armchair and sofa are in two separate bays in the same aisle and the covers are in another aisle. Lifting a flat pack sofa on to the trolley is no easy operation. Remember, you have to keep the trolley in a stationary position as you shove the couch on to it. Again Anne and her children save the day as I push the couch up on to the trolley.

Off to checkout. It’s all a learning process. At first I am pushing the trolley but can’t see a thing as the couch impedes my view. That means I start pulling the trolley – problem solved. But I almost upended a man in my dash for the checkout.

At the checkout but alas the bar code is on the bottom side of the box so again I have to lift it so the cashier can read code. I hand over my money and the job is done. Or at least I think it is. But of course it’s not over until the fat lady sings.

It’s not possible to carry a two-seater sofa and an armchair across the city nor will the cargo fit in anything but a truck. Ikea delivers but for a price. Well, it’s not really Ikea. It is a company Ikea hires to do the delivering. So it’s off to the delivery department. Another queue. People in front of me seem to be buying the entire kit for a house and someone to my right is trying to skip the queue. And I am getting tetchy. I hate myself when I act the unctuous brat like that.
Like the Ryanair queue, I eventually get to the top. That feeling of elation to be replaced within seconds with that terrible sinking feeling. I ask them if they could deliver next Tuesday or Wednesday. Not possible.. It will be delivered on Friday, the day after I buy it. And if that does not suit there will be storage charges. I have no choice.

Oh, yes, I could bring it all back and look for a refund and then I would have no sofa and armchair. That would be analogous to turning down a ‘free’ Ryanair flight having just paid them to use my paper, my printer, my time and my computer to print off their boarding card.
Back in the car park, we are one of the last cars left.

Home, into bed. What a feeling of relief. It’s all over. Could this really be retail therapy?