Sunday, January 25, 2009

Burning down the house.



This post is going to have a hint of bitterness. For that, I'm sorry. So if you're in a good mood, don't let me spoil it. Alright, I feel the need to write about two things. The first thing is something strange that happened to me today in the sunny, friendly, post-Von Dutch, Ed Hardy-nation of UAE. Since the weather was spectacular and I didn't really feel like working, I decided to bring a book and go to the beach. Whilst walking out onto the sandy foundation, on which this whole part of the continent seems to stand on, a security guard suddenly started yelling at me. From what I understood, I wasn't allowed to go out on the beach, without wearing swim-shorts. Me, sporting black cheap monday-jeans and a London Calling-tshirt, couldn't help but feel a bit puzzled. I mean, isn't it a tad bit strange to be denied access to a place, because you're wearing too much clothing? At least in a country where some people have to put on a fucking space-suit, just to go grocery shopping.



The second thing I want to tell you guys about, is my recent visit to IKEA. Now, I know what you're thinking. How do I know? Because of the dumb smile on your face, combined with the warmth currently rising from within you. There seems to be some sort of inevitable truth in the concept of IKEA. It doesn't seem to matter if you're black, white, jewish, arab, Winnie the pooh, Russel Crowe, or one of Axl Rose's many illicit children, the fact still remains: Everyone loves IKEA. However, yesterday when I visited what is now commonly known to be the sacred vessel of 100 % product-value, I suddenly got a funny feeling. Inside of that huge department-store, I felt something I've never felt before in my whole life. It felt like I finally understood that crazy chick in the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre-movie. What I felt was sheer terror.

I think I finally understand why IKEA is so cheap. You pay an extra toll in blood, sweat and tears when you're in the actual store. Yes, that must be it. Also, all of you seem to think you're making a ton of money when you buy things at IKEA. That's bogus, when you think of the money you have to spend on beer&snacks, trying to trick your friends into coming over, since you obviously couldn't put that thing together yourself.

On the bright side, despite the fact that my total experience felt like something of a combination between Edward Munch's painting "The scream" and the movie "Hard Candy", I still think I came out a stronger man. Me using the term "man" very loosely, since clearly, I am no such thing. I guess the whole experience really made me question things, you know. Things like:

-What would be the punishment for strangling someone's child? How long would it take? Does the age of the child matter?
-All the items in the store are supposed to have Swedish names. I walked past a piece of furniture called "Svajs". I'm Swedish, and I ask this question with absolute sincerity. What the fuck does "svajs" mean?
-What would the punishment be for severely strangling someone's child? Does the age of the child matter?
-Is it true, that if you're in a haunting and seemingly humongous maze, you should always turn right to find the exit?
-Is "Hindenburg" a blimp or a famous trial?
-Could this child fit into this box? Do they sell locks at IKEA?
-Can't I just change the price tags and then just go to a self checkout-counter?
-If I hid in the warehouse, how long would it take for someone to find me, and would he/she be paid overtime while searching for me?

As you see, many things went through my head. Anyways, I'm still fairly sure I love IKEA. That being said, my visit to the Dubai IKEA-store can easily be summed up as: Not a good time. Not at all. Also, I didn't even buy anything.


all pics: me

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