purplecthulhu

I gaze out from my balcony as a brown moon rises behind the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, my newly assembled bookcases completed.

I got these from Ikea last week. With a weekend away, its taken me until now to get them finished, but now they're done. 4 bookcases and a CD rack, with shelves set to cope with DVDs and videos as well. Should keep me sorted out for some time!

But it didn't seem like I would get them at one point.

You probably know how Ikea works. You stack everything on a trolley and then go to the checkouts to buy it. If, like me, you don't have a car, you then have to go to the home delivery section to sort this out. So I go over there with my trolley full of bookcases.

"Where do you live - what postcode", I'm asked, once they finish sorting through a pile of paperwork. I give them my postcode. "Saturday" I'm told.

"Can you do another day - Saturday doesn't work for me", I ask.

"No. Saturday is when we deliver there."

"So I have to return all this stuff?"

"Returns is over there."

By this point I am angry, frustrated, and truly boggled at this stupid system. "Can I speak toy your supervisor?"

She comes over, and I try to control myself. I explain the problem, through clenched teeth. She suggests a taxi. I have visions of squeezing the bookcases into a London black cab, complete with the huge fare. This doesn't work for me. Then she indicates a swarthy, middle eastern gentleman I'd taken as a customer by the delivery section. "No, with this man," she says with what I think is a Scandinavian accent. "Same price as us, but you can go now."

I'm a little surprised at this, and don't entirely trust the man, but it looks like the only option. We head to the taxi, and I offer a somewhat abashed "Thank you" to the supervisor. We get a van loaded up, and I get a nice drive back home, and help with the boxes into my flat. I give him a significant tip, as he wasn't expecting the 12th floor.

So it all went well, despite my paranoia. If the home delivery minion was a bit more helpful, we could've avoided a lot of stress and unpleasantness.

The one question I have is how has Ikea's own delivery service survived with this competition?

I gaze out from my balcony as a brown moon rises behind the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, my newly assembled bookcases completed.

I got these from Ikea last week. With a weekend away, its taken me until now to get them finished, but now they're done. 4 bookcases and a CD rack, with shelves set to cope with DVDs and videos as well. Should keep me sorted out for some time!

But it didn't seem like I would get them at one point.

You probably know how Ikea works. You stack everything on a trolley and then go to the checkouts to buy it. If, like me, you don't have a car, you then have to go to the home delivery section to sort this out. So I go over there with my trolley full of bookcases.

"Where do you live - what postcode", I'm asked, once they finish sorting through a pile of paperwork. I give them my postcode. "Saturday" I'm told.

"Can you do another day - Saturday doesn't work for me", I ask.

"No. Saturday is when we deliver there."

"So I have to return all this stuff?"

"Returns is over there."

By this point I am angry, frustrated, and truly boggled at this stupid system. "Can I speak toy your supervisor?"

She comes over, and I try to control myself. I explain the problem, through clenched teeth. She suggests a taxi. I have visions of squeezing the bookcases into a London black cab, complete with the huge fare. This doesn't work for me. Then she indicates a swarthy, middle eastern gentleman I'd taken as a customer by the delivery section. "No, with this man," she says with what I think is a Scandinavian accent. "Same price as us, but you can go now."

I'm a little surprised at this, and don't entirely trust the man, but it looks like the only option. We head to the taxi, and I offer a somewhat abashed "Thank you" to the supervisor. We get a van loaded up, and I get a nice drive back home, and help with the boxes into my flat. I give him a significant tip, as he wasn't expecting the 12th floor.

So it all went well, despite my paranoia. If the home delivery minion was a bit more helpful, we could've avoided a lot of stress and unpleasantness.

The one question I have is how has Ikea's own delivery service survived with this competition?