I went to Ikea (pronounced Ick-yar by the Sarf Manchester
bleached/purchased teeth community in their efforts to try and keep up
with the new advertisement pronunciation). My son required a wardrobe,
although why he can't sleep in a bed like other computer science
students is beyond me. I also wanted a sofa to match my eyes, but
Ick-yar don't do bloodshot.
A N Y W A Y . . . Saturday is NOT the best day to head to Ick-yar Ashton-under-Lyne, not that any
day is necessarily the best day to head to Ashton-under-Lyne. By the
way; to those of you living in a country that doesn't have an
Ashton-under-Lyne (a conurbation within Greater Manchester in the north
of England), believe me, you are not missing anything.
Absolute mayhem, with fighting, cursing and blood-letting over trolleys, and that was just the staff.
Now. Some questions for the more regular (must be the fibre) Ick-yar visitors.
1.
Why do people who are buying large items of furniture reverse into
parking spaces thus making it impossible to load their car without
faffing around and causing a stir, argument and swearing as they drive
out of their parking space to swop the orientation of their car, and as
they are so doing, someone else slides their car into the temporarily
vacated parking space?
2. Why do people, on what is a very busy
day and car parking is not the easiest, wheel their trolley into an
adjacent free space NEXT to their car to unload (remember, needing to
put their purchases into the BACK of the car) when there is an adequate
walk/load way provided by those nice Ick-yar car park architects?
3.
Why do customers who are buying only a Blobbaclump scatter cushion and
and a Krindoflop rubber plant insist on using the biggest,
commercial-sized trolley Ick-Yar have available?
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