They were having a sale!

If you've been watching any television lately, chances are you've seen the commercials for the IKEA sale. People have been streaming in looking to snag fantastic deals on various homewares, and inevitably been disappointed by the sad array of junk we actually have on sale. Unless you're looking for Holiday napkins or pet supplies, we don't really have much to offer, which is astounding, given the way we advertise this sale.

As you know, I work in the bedrooms department. We actually do have a few reasonably useful things on sale - basically the whole Malm series in oak, some cabinet doors - anything that's discontinued. I think the issue at hand, though, is that given the enormous range of products that we carry, one would expect a broader sale, when in fact, we really have very little on sale. This, obviously, has bothered the customers (because if there's one thing you should know from reading this blog, it's that everything bothers customers) as much as it bothers me. People keep coming up to me and asking "What's on sale?" When I rattle off the relatively short list of sale items, reactions range from underenthused mumblings - "great, just what I need" - to violent disbelief - "WHAT? I DROVE 150 MILES FOR NOTHING?"

We did, however, have a big one-day-only sale on a wardrobe. It's a pretty basic wardrobe - three doors, hanging space, shelving. It's usually $99.99 (it used to be $99, but in an effort to increase our already disgustingly high profits, we jacked it up a whole 99 cents) but for July 5th only it was $49.99. In case you didn't already know, every IKEA product has a Swedish name. The names don't really translate to anything having to do with the function of the product, it's just a nomenclature system to identify the products. This wardrobe was called "Dombas," which is probably supposed to be pronounced "Dome-bahs," but of course we call it the "Dumb-ass." (For specific nomenclature details and other naming snafoos, check out this out.) So, as hundreds of people paraded into the store on July 5th asking "where's the wardrobe that's on sale?" I unabashedly responded "OOOH, you mean the Dumbass?" Pretty much everyone just looked at me without saying anything, at which point I would tell them it was in the warehouse, but few kindred spirits found it as hilarious as I did and at the very least, chuckled a bit.

Back to the blogging board?

I know, it's been weeks since I updated, and you're probably furious with me, but IKEA has made me want to slit my wrists lately, and coming home from work to write about work was the last thing I wanted to do. But I turned a new leaf today. I came to the realization that IKEA is just about the least important thing in the world, and getting my panties in a knot about it is just not worth it; thus, I return to mock the frivolous institution which has made me both miserable and moderately financially stable for the last 10 months.

Yes, it's been 10 months, which means I'm coming up on a year. A whole year of my life spent making beds and picking up paper tape measures and mini pencils. I promise I'll recount more tales of customer and coworker idiocy very soon, but at the moment I'm sitting in Starbucks using the free internet because I no longer have my own internet, which makes posting a little more difficult. I'm moving to a new house in a month where the internet is abundantly present, so posting will be easier then!

For now, I'll leave you with a quick story, as Starbucks is getting ready to kick me out.

The other day, this tobacco chewing back-woods He-man came sauntering up to me with his mail-order-bride in tow, and informed me he wanted a bed. I started drawing up an order for him, and asked if he needed slats (basically, a platform that replaces the box spring) for the bed. He replied "HELL YES I NEED THE SLATS." I calmly informed him that if he had a box spring, he didn't need them. "I'm trying to save you money sir, because if you have a boxspring, you don't need to buy the slats."

"YES I HAVE A BOX SPRING BUT I STILL NEED THE FUCKING SLATS."

I politely repeated that he didn't need both, and I was trying to help him, to which he replied "CAN YOU JUST TRY TO GET THIS SHIT RIGHT?"

I stared intently, and said "Whatttt did you just say to me?"

He repeated himself slowly "I SAID, CAN YOU JUST GET THIS SHIT RIGHT?"

I stared for a second, and said "I'm trying my best to help you. If you want my help, you'll speak to me with respect. If you want to be an asshole, get the fuck out of my store."

He looked at me without a hint of thought or emotion, blinked and shut his mouth. I printed off his order and sent him on his way. Then I put my head on my desk and cried for humanity. FML.

Battle ground: IKEA

For whatever reason, my work schedule has been a little strange lately. I think because a bunch of other people in the department are taking finals right now, they're requesting special hours, so my schedule got shifted around. Somehow, I ended up working the late shift on Wednesday, which I almost never do on Wednesdays, but I showed up at 2:00, ready to battle it out until 10:00. As soon as I set foot on the floor, a woman asked me where a particular piece of furniture was. Specifically, she was looking for one of the Malm dressers (if you don't know, everything at IKEA has a Swedish name - Malm, Ektorp, Expedit, etc. The names are assigned more or less at random, just used to identify products). She wanted it in black, but could only find it in black-brown. Close, but no cigar. I pointed to the other end of the department and told her where to find it. She scurried off, I stayed at my desk. Not two minutes later, her husband comes stomping through the department. He doesn't bother to come up to me to talk, but rather yells at me from thirty feet away (one of my pet peeves) "YO, YOU, IT'S NOT THERE."

My initial reaction is utter disgust for my job and pure hatred towards humanity. But I calmed myself down and politely walked over to him. He repeated "MY WIFE ASKED YOU FOR SOMETHING AND IT'S NOT WHERE YOU SAID IT WAS."

I informed him that it was indeed exactly where I said it was, they just didn't see it. He felt it was appropriate to respond "YOU CAN'T JUST STAND THERE. YOU HAVE TO DO SOME WORK ONCE IN A WHILE."

At that very moment, it took every ounce of restraint for me not to rip his hands off his body and slap him with them. Keep in mind, of course, that he's the one wandering through a furniture store at 2:00 on a Wednesday, while I was dilligently doing my job, contributing to society. Anyhow, being the sassy bitch that I am, I stopped dead in my tracks, looked him right in the eye, and said "Let's get one thing straight. If you expect me to assist you, I expect you to put your attitude away."

He immediately started getting defensive and running his mouth - "DON'T BE LIKE THAT, DUDE. WE'RE NOT GONNA DO THAT HERE. I DON'T WANNA HEAR THAT SHIT."

I silenced him and said "Sir, you're embarrassing me, and you're embarrassing yourself. Stop it now."

We continued on to the piece of furniture he was originally looking for, and of course, it was right where I said it was. Refusing to be civil, he said "THAT'S NOT IT, THAT'S NOT IT. I ASKED FOR ONE WITH SIX DRAWERS."

The chest clearly had six drawers, so I walked up to it, pointed at each drawer, counting out loud "one, two, three, four, five, six," looked him in the eye for a second, and then walked away.

To be honest, I enjoyed the whole confrontation. It's not often that I get to actively call out customers for being idiots. I usually have to just smile and nod while imagining them on fire. But since this guy was being so aggressive, I felt it not only appropriate, but necessary that I throw down with him. And if nothing else, it was an empowering start to an otherwise uneventful day.

overheard in IKEA

Customer quote of the day: "I wonder if they have the wardrobe from Narnia..."

wtf???

I'm pretty sure the Earth fell out of orbit today, at least for a hot second. My boss told me he was actually trying to secure me a raise. Like more money. Like actually more money on my paycheck. Like dollars and cents. I almost peed my pants.

I'll explain:

There are generally only two ways to earn a raise at IKEA.

1.) Getting a better job. This is accomplished in one of two ways. Either moving up in the company, or leaving the company. Firings are not uncommon within the Blue Box (a nifty IKEA metaphor I've picked up from a coworker!). To be honest, most people, after being fired, end up in better paying jobs, which makes getting fired not such a bad prospect...hmmm...
However, aside from leaving the company, one could also seek a promotion. The basic hierarchy consists of three positions:
-"Coworker" (IKEA-speak for "entry level employee" aka "peon")
-"Team leader" (or assistant manager)
-"Shopkeeper" (or Manager)
Moving up the ladder, the money gets better, of course. So, short of getting fired, moving up the ladder is the best shot at getting more money.

2.) Typically, the only other way to get more money is through the once-a-year Performance Evaluation. Every October, every coworker is evaluated by his or her Shopkeeper. Based on the evaluation, everyone is eligible for a raise. These raises range from negligible to pitiful, somewhere in the 10 cents to 50 cents-per-hour area. I guess I really wouldn't complain about a 50 cent raise. That really adds up across the hours, but I must admit, I still have a little bit of a sour taste in my mouth after my most recent (and first) evaluation. The evaluation period is specifically designated as September 1st of the last year up the August 31st of the current year. I was hired at IKEA on August 28th, and didn't start working until September, so essentially, within the guidelines of the evaluation, I hadn't worked any days withing the evaluation period. Yet, I was still required to complete an evaluation. Needless to say, I had acquired no skills or knowledge in the time that I was not working at the store, so I received a mediocre evaluation, and consequently, a mediocre raise of 13 cents per hour. Keep in mind, this evaluation was conducted in late October, so by that point, I had actually learned the ropes, and was hoping for a nice chunk of change as a "thank you" for learning everything so quickly. Imagine my disappointment at receiving a pat on the back and an extra $8 per paycheck. Excellent.

Aside from these two options, there really isn't any prescribed method of securing more money, so to be arbitrarily informed that might possibly be getting a raise, without even asking, was pretty unorthodox. I was actually pleasantly surprised at the unexpected display of generosity from the otherwise stoic and constitutional apparatus that is IKEA.

I'll let you know if the raise actually comes through. Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion.

United Nations of IKEA

In my dealings at IKEA, I've worked with people of all different backgrounds, ethnicities, and nationalities. I like to think of myself as an ambassador to the United Nations of IKEA, a peacemaker, if you will, among the many peoples that fulfill their home furnishing needs within my place of business. To that end, I find myself working with speakers of many different languages. Generally, people speak some amount of English, at least enough to work their way through making a purchase at the store. But occasionally, I run across people who literally do not speak a word of English. It's rare, but obviously a reality of living in a major metropolitan area. So, every now and then, I have to find creative ways to assist customers with little to no knowledge of the English language.

Today was a particularly "multicultural" day at the store, with customer interactions illustrating the full range of fluency in English. Early in the morning, I was approached by an African couple, asking the price of an item. Now you know how I feel about customers asking prices...if you don't know, the answer is I don't like it. There is not a single item in the store that isn't tagged with explicit clarity. Nevertheless, I spend most of my day reading price tags to people who are either too lazy to read it themselves, or just don't understand. This particular situation turned out to be a combination of both. I walked over the the bed in question, where the couple asked me how much it cost. I pointed at the price tag on the bed, and informed them it cost $300. Then they asked how much the whole thing cost, gesturing to the mattress, boxspring, etc. I informed them that I wasn't a calculator, and that I'd have to get something to add up the separate pieces. (Truth be told, I'm fairly good with numbers, but it bothers me so much when people just use me to add up prices. So I always try to act as annoyed as possible.) So I trapsed over to my desk, got a pen and paper, and added up the prices of the bed, the mattress, and the box spring. $1300, which is a large number, but for a solid wood bed, a box spring, and a really nice mattress, it's really not so bad. They were not having it, though. They kept asking, "how much for just the bed?" and I kept repeating "I told you, it's $300." They kept asking "no, the bed, how much is the bed?" I didn't know what to say, so I finally walked over, grabbed the headboard, and said "THIS BED COSTS $300. THE SIGN IS RIGHT HERE." Well it turns out that they were asking how much the mattress cost, but didn't know the difference between a "bed" and a "mattress." Once we got that worked out, it was smooth sailing and I sent them on their way. I suppose it's fairly common vernacular to interchange bed and mattress, but I assume that most adults, when it really comes down to it, know the difference. But I'm continually surprised by people who really don't know the difference between the words. I'll give this particular couple a little leeway, though, since English was clearly not their native language.

Situation number two arose when two women, mother and daughter, about 40 and 75, waved to get my attention. I went over, and was greeted with "Como estas?" I replied "I'm fine," in order to politely indicate that I preferred English. They, however, continued in Spanish. Now, I do speak a minimal amount of Spanish, just enough to get by, so I took this as a cue that they didn't speak English, and I continued in my high-school-level broken Spanish. They were extremely relieved, and from what I could understand, they told me they were so glad I spoke Spanish. They said I must have been a good boy in school, because when their teachers tried to teach them English, it went in one ear and out the other. I laughed nervously. (I basically laughed nervously the whole time since I was only about 85% certain that I understood what they were saying, but I figured it was better to err on the side of vapid, rather than stoic, thus I laughed.) I responded, in Spanish, that I was sure I was probably butchering the Spanish, but they assured me I was doing well enough. We talked a little more, the older woman kept making jokes and winking at me, I laughed and winked back, and we had a nice chat, sort of. Eventually, through snippets of Spanish and a lot of pointing, I helped them pick a mattress and printed out an order for them. They asked me which way they should go, and I told them they had to go downstairs, at which point the older woman grabbed my hand and started walking with me towards the stairs. Her daughter took her other hand, and off we went. We had a little bit of a walk to get to the elevator, so we carried on a little bit more, in Spanish of course, so I did a lot of "si, si" and giggled at everything they said, which I think made me sort of a novelty to them, because they seemed so delighted with me. The older woman asked me my name, and told me her name was Antonia. I told her it was nice to meet her, and she batted her eyelashes and giggled. I put them on the elevator, gave them directions to the warehouse, and sent them on their way. I wish more of my language barrier experiences would be like that...

Situation number three involved a deaf guy who wanted to buy a dresser. It really wasn't an issue because he brought a friend to translate into sign language for him, so I basically just communicated through her, but I bring it up because it reminded me of another couple that comes into the store every couple months. It's a French couple, both deaf. The husband understands no English whatsoever, the wife understands enough, but has to be looking at you to understand. Whenever they come into the store, they're always shopping for a wardrobe, which is literally the most complicated thing we sell, since there are so many small, interchangeable pieces. The first time they came in, I was relatively new and didn't know all that much about wardrobes, so it took us about an hour and half, but through countless blueprints, drawings, and a healthy amount of pointing and counting on fingers, we planned out a massive wardrobe. The woman has always been very sweet and grateful for my patience, but the husband was initially pretty impatient. He used to get really worked up when I didn't understand what he wanted, but after their first visit, we had worked out a way to understand each other more efficiently, and he eventually calmed down. The last time they came in, I'm pretty sure we planned out a wardrobe in less than 15 minutes, which is pretty incredible considering we didn't really use words at all.

There have been other experiences with people of all different cultures, but one way or another, we figure out ways to communicate. But for every non-English-speaking customer who works out ways to communicate with me, there's some idiot who speaks perfectly good English but won't listen to anything but the sound if their own voice. To those customers, I say good luck, because no matter how much pointing and gesturing I do, I just can't communicate with Stupid.

Swedish cuisine

You may not know this, but IKEA actually has three restaurants. There's the Bistro by the registers where they sell the hotdogs and cinnamon buns (a winning combination), the full restaraunt up in the showroom (aka the swedish meatball buffet), and the staff cafe behind the scenes. They restaurant and bistro have a pretty fixed menu, but the staff cafe dish changes everyday, just to give us a little variety in the workplace. I'd say it's on par with your typical high school cafeteria - various deep-fried animal parts, steamed vegetables, and an assortment of sugary drinks, all for the low low price of $3. What a treat!

Occasionally, though, something particularly unrecognizable or unedible will show up in the staff cafe. Today was one of those noteworthy occasions. In honor of Kristofer's visit (I'm sure that's about the third different way I've spelled Kristofer at this point), the chef wanted to make something extra special, so of course he settled on meatloaf. Fancy, I know. Well, from what
I could tell, it was just last week's leftover taco meat with some ketchup squeezed on it. The story I got from other coworkers was that the meatloaf somehow fell apart in the oven, and the beefy mess that they served was the unfortunate result. I wouldn't normally be so bothered by it, since I can easily just go to the customer restaurant if I don't like what's in the staff cafe, but given the frantic praparations leading up to Kristofer's semiannual visit, I figured that the cafe would want to reflect the false pride that the rest of the store was putting on. Honestly, if that pile of cow came out of my oven, I'd toss it right back and microwave some chicken fingers and call it a day. But they decided to serve it, nonetheless. Apparently Kristofer (Christofer, as you may remember) ate it, probably to be polite and experience the finest in American cuisine, but it just strikes me that since I had to sit in a closet building doors for an hour to impress our visiting Swedish prince, the least they could do is serve something reasonable for lunch.

Anyhow, regarding Kristofer's visit, it was pretty uneventful. In fact, I never actually laid eyes on him this time around. I kept getting updates via the grapevine as to where he was in the store all day, but by the time he actually made it into my department to admire my various arts and crafts projects, I was off at lunch, deaperately avoiding the meatloaf surprise. I can't decide if I'm relieved that I didn't have to deal with him, or annoyed that I didn't get any credit for the work that I put in to prepare. Either way, I managed to avoid the meatloaf, so I guess I win in the end.