Dear Ikea,

We had some sweet times together, didn't we?

Remember how I frolicked through the long, winding aisles of your stores in Elizabeth and Paramus, leaving no corner or unpronounceable product unexplored?  Recall, those cozy afternoons spent between the pages of your glossy annual catalog?  Think back to the days I lovingly assembled Markor, Hemnes, Billy, Ingolf, Lack, and some other guys I can't remember the names of?

I think I still have the wrenches.

Well, Ikea, it pains me to say it, but I'm through with you!  Our 20-year love affair is O-V-E-R. 

You're dumped. 

It all started innocently enough.  Back in August, I was looking for a few more pieces of furniture for my new apartment, and of course I went straight to you.  Why wouldn't I?  You're economical, stylish, durable (I've moved 6x!), and I take a special pride in building furniture with my own two hands. 

You make me feel like the Swedish lovechild of Michelangelo, IM Pei, and Frank Lloyd Wright!

But since I needed 2 dressers for the bedroom PLUS a console for the foyer AND a desk/decorative cabinet for the living/dining room, I figured a solo trip to the store with a rented van was ill-advised.  So, I decided to order online and go for the convenient home delivery service you promote everywhere.

Mistake #1.

First, no matter how many times I visit your site, you never remember that I'm in the US.  Why?  That's pretty basic info, easily cookied.  Ok, maybe you want me to work for it.  So I clicked around and found about $900 worth of furniture, that I whittled down to $400 (aka a dresser and a desk) in an effort to be sensible.

(You should also know your online shopping experience was a bit clunky and Ask Anna is totally useless.)

I went to checkout, and added another $100 for home delivery bringing my total to roughly $500.  I entered my credit card.  I chose a delivery date (September 2nd, a Tuesday).  I got a confirmation number.  AND an email!  Great, I thought.  My furniture was on the way. 

Then, I waited.

Mistake #2.

The whole week passed and no delivery. So on that Friday morning I phoned you.  I got bounced around from post-sales to pre-sales and back to post only to find out I really needed to speak with the fraud department.  Apparently, my order had been flagged -- though nobody bothered to send an email, or make a call, or fling an ABBA record at my head to let me know. 

How could I have a confirmation number AND delivery date if this order was flagged as fraud?

(And don't even get me STARTED on all these hackers ripping off our credit card numbers. C'mon, gigantic banks and big box stores... get it together.  Some scruffy joker with an Acer he grabbed from a dumpster behind Radio Shack is eating your lunch.  And mine.)

Anyway, this Scooby Doo riddle took 45 minutes, which made me late for work, so I couldn't hop into the Mystery Machine to figure it out.  She offered to call me back.

I said ok.

Mistake #3.

Obviously, nobody called.  Which is baffling to me!  Was that bozo Anna hogging the phone again?  Nobody in your WHOLE company feels like following up on a $500 order?  Is the road to riches SO paved with Swedish meatballs and lingonberry sauce that you don't really NEED my money?

You played hard to get, which is my Achilles heel (you know me so well). A week later, I called customer service.  AGAIN.

Mistake #4.

I went down the automated path and got disconnected.  Twice.

Et tu, Ikea?

Eventually, I spoke to someone, who verified that yes, I had placed an order.  But she was predictably unconcerned that said order was languishing in this Bermuda Triangle between a confirmation number, a delivery date and a fake fraud flag.  And apparently the crack accounting team was once again hard at work because nobody could come to the phone. 

At this point, I told you to keep your furniture where the midnight sun don't shine.

Since then, I went to Amazon.  And Overstock.  And bought all 4 pieces of furniture.  With FREE shipping.  For the price of 81 sacks of frozen Kottbullar (also known as $700).

See ya never, Ingvar Kamprad.  I'm getting my Allen wenches elsewhere.

Signed,
Your Former #1 Furniture Fan


tags: rants, shopping