Fieldnote #102: IKEA – That guest bed

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It’s 10:17 a.m. and I’ve already given up. I’m standing in the IKEA Åsane parking garage, where every car looks like it was bought the same day, and I’m thinking: this is my Waterloo. Not because I’m buying a guest bed. But because I’m buying a guest bed at IKEA. Of my own free will.

You walk in there as an optimistic person and come out as someone who has been through a divorce, a master’s degree in flat-pack assembly, and an existential crisis – all in under 90 minutes. It’s impressive, really. The Swedes have managed to commercialize both hope and despair in a single concept.

I wander through the showroom section like an anthropologist on a field trip. I look at all the perfect, nameless rooms where no one has ever spilled red wine or had guests who stay for three weeks. “Guest bed” is apparently called “SÖVNMÅNAD” or something equally passive-aggressive. The price is nice. Assembly time: 4–6 hours and a piece of your soul. I’m buying it anyway. Of course I am.

At the restaurant, true to tradition, I have a hot dog with mashed potatoes and a dose of self-loathing. I look at the other customers. We’re all the same. We pretend we’re just “picking up a little something,” but we all walk out with three sacks of blue bags, a plant we don’t need, and a new doorstop because “it was on sale.” We’re pathetic. We’re brothers.

It’s especially funny to see myself – a grown man who once managed construction projects – standing there, staring lost at a poster explaining the difference between “firm” and “extra firm” mattresses. I nod seriously, as if I understand. I understand nothing. I’m just glad no one from work is seeing me right now.

I’m going to spend the evening unpacking 187 parts, losing one type of screw in the sofa, cursing in Swedish (because it feels right), and finally having a guest bed that looks just about right. The guests will sleep poorly. I will feel Norwegian.

Mission accomplished.

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