Something is rotten in the state of Sweden. It's not the meatballs.
Well, kinda.
Well, kinda.
In 2011, IKEA made 1.2 billion Euros (1.8b Canadian) selling food.
Yes, the leviathan home-outfitter offers some artery-clogging fare at some cut-throat prices. I'm a fan of cheap eats. A one-dollar breakfast and seventy-five cent hotdog are really the flagship fly-tape that gets you in and keeps you shopping.
If a white van (with no windows) pulls up, offers you candy, do you go for a ride? Of course! To the IKEA Jeeves! How else will you get your Trysil into your dorm?
Ottawa's IKEA is the largest in Canada. It is almost 400,000 square feet and if you're lucky, you can make it from entrance to exit in 15 minutes. That's 1.3 kms walking at an average pace, not stopping to correct your mult-directional shopping cart, getting caught behind the walking dead, or being fooled by the directional signage deviously inspired by M.C. Escher .
You haven't purchased anything, mind. Fifteen minutes of your life just to get through the bloody store. Charge your phone.
Five Canadian-sized football fields full of crap that will be in a landfill in no less that 5 years.
Swedish Narnia. Behemoth bargains.
You're going to need sustenance. You'll want it cheap.
According to the Toronto Star, IKEA's thrifty breakfast, while filling, isn't too healthy. My store opens at ten on weekdays. Not nine, like most businesses. Ten. By this time, there is a lineup of construction workers, new-moms, do-it-yourselfers on their day off, and the elderly waiting patiently outside.
Most of these people are usually up by 6am. Offering breakfast at ten even for a dollar isn't a deal. It's an obvious ploy with a dash of evil. It's no secret. We are painfully aware.
The early-birds are famished and by 10am they don't care about sodium, carbs and most definitely do not read the Toronto Star. When IKEA's doors finally open the race towards powdered-eggs, sausage and hash-browns moves faster than a mob across a Hungarian border patrol. Oh wait.. I've confused my puns.
Five Canadian-sized football fields full of crap that will be in a landfill in no less that 5 years.
Swedish Narnia. Behemoth bargains.
You're going to need sustenance. You'll want it cheap.
According to the Toronto Star, IKEA's thrifty breakfast, while filling, isn't too healthy. My store opens at ten on weekdays. Not nine, like most businesses. Ten. By this time, there is a lineup of construction workers, new-moms, do-it-yourselfers on their day off, and the elderly waiting patiently outside.
Most of these people are usually up by 6am. Offering breakfast at ten even for a dollar isn't a deal. It's an obvious ploy with a dash of evil. It's no secret. We are painfully aware.
The early-birds are famished and by 10am they don't care about sodium, carbs and most definitely do not read the Toronto Star. When IKEA's doors finally open the race towards powdered-eggs, sausage and hash-browns moves faster than a mob across a Hungarian border patrol. Oh wait.. I've confused my puns.
Hungary. Hungry.
Moving on.
Greener foods are available, but who's kidding who? A seventy-five cent pig-missle after a walking through a maze of umlauted furniture is like receiving an Olympic gold medal. Made from pork. Furthermore, stress-eating is a perfectly acceptable way of avoiding 'relationship' conversation on the minivan ride home. A buck-fifty avoids putting your foot in it. Save the domestic for the assembly of your pressed-wood, melamine bookshelf.
I can pretty much endure most all IKEA-isms, knowing what I'm getting into when I pull into the parking lot and sigh heavily.
Except for one thing.
Moving on.
Greener foods are available, but who's kidding who? A seventy-five cent pig-missle after a walking through a maze of umlauted furniture is like receiving an Olympic gold medal. Made from pork. Furthermore, stress-eating is a perfectly acceptable way of avoiding 'relationship' conversation on the minivan ride home. A buck-fifty avoids putting your foot in it. Save the domestic for the assembly of your pressed-wood, melamine bookshelf.
I can pretty much endure most all IKEA-isms, knowing what I'm getting into when I pull into the parking lot and sigh heavily.
Except for one thing.
Huh?
It's a piece of something, alright. The last halm. Er, straw.
It's a piece of something, alright. The last halm. Er, straw.
Care-free capitalism has finally planted its fat bottom down on the consumers sofa for the long haul. Be prepared to really do-it-yourself. That fat bastard is guilting you into doing their job. IKEA, my sweet raringar, is asking you to help around the house a little (in the spirit of community) to "keeping prices low". So get off your häck and help out a little, ok?
Even the filthiest mall in the most depressive forgotten town in North America has people at the food court to clear the debris, spray some lung-burning cleaning agent on a table and labour back behind that filthy mystery door. So why not here?
Apparently, our friendly yellow clad employees are so busy they can't spare a moment. Try and find one when you need one and risk making a wrong turn in the labyrinth. I dare you.
In Ottawa, the average salary for an IKEA employee is $12.16/hour. Before income tax, full-time employees earn just under a hundred bucks a day.
They seem pretty goddamned happy.
They seem pretty goddamned happy.
You're telling me that of the approximately 330 stores worldwide, hiring one extra person a day to clean up plates from old ladies is bank-breaking? I've done the math. It's a little over 12 million dollars for 330 employees 365 days a year. A drop in the knod.
IKEA's revenues for 2014 were 29.29 billion Euros. That's 44 billion Canadian dollars. They were up a slight 3.33 billion Euros in profits.
A mere five billion loonies.
Tidy.
The gross domestic product of Guyana.
The gross domestic product of Guyana.
Still, I suppose it's cheaper to produce condescending reminders for each table.
After you've cleaned up and escaped the cat's-cradle, make your way to the self-checkout.
It's a piece of cake.
After you've cleaned up and escaped the cat's-cradle, make your way to the self-checkout.
It's a piece of cake.
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