First, Ikea.

More and more happenings.

The semester is setting fast into a flurry, which has set trouble with sleep at an all time high. I was incredibly tired today, and ready to give up. But as energy reaches its lowest reserves, these reserves seem to be heavily tainted with lack of judgement, apathy, irritability, etc.

So today, after my class that ended at 16.00, I decided these sleeping troubles could be improved with the fluffiest mattress topper of all mattress toppers. Well, I really decided this during class, and spent most of the two hours ebbing in and out of focus, thinking about where the nearest place to buy a mattress topper was, and how I could get there.

As of today, I have never taken the city bus before, for various reasons, mostly because I would have to pay with my card on the bus, and I hate things going wrong. I was convinced something would go wrong and I would be sent off the bus because I couldn’t pay.

Being the spontaneous and adventurous spirit I am, on this dark November evening, I decided to make my first trip to Ikea. I haven’t really had much of a need to go there, and I prefer to avoid consumer death-traps. Ikea is perhaps one of the most successful and carefully engineering consumer death-trap I know of.

So I wait for the bus, get on the bus, and pull out my card, to pay like the good citizen I am. The driver waves me back, sit, sit. Confused, I sit in the first seat. He starts driving, and explains, the machine is not working. But how will I pay? He waves a hand dissmissively.

Though I was more or less permitted a free ride because of a disfunctional card machine, I was still nervous. I didn’t know if somehow there would be surprise ticket checks, etc. I prepared my explanation, complete with tears and pleas and explanations that I am just a foreigner and confused about this complicated transportation system.

Then the bus driver changed, surging my fears of fines and reprimands in full force. On top of that, the usual travel nausea I have been endowed with, which has not abated from childhood, but only grown worse, decided to match the pace with my anxiety. It was not a short bus ride.

I got to my stop, and, as these things like to strike a person, I thought, what if he asks for my ticket when I leave? What then moron?

No. It was fine. Everything was fine. I didn’t even vomit. My first bus ride was free, and then there was Ikea.

It didn’t start looming until about ten minutes into my walk, cars blazed past. I felt odd walking through this center of furniture and hardware stores, with my backpack and overly heavy coat. I have nothing in between.

I like Sweden and all, but there are so many escalators. I am honestly afraid of them, and every time I step on one, it looks like I have never seen one before. Moving stairs, what could go wrong?


I did get my matress topper, and I did have to navigate the winding, swollen labyrinth that is Ikea. I don’t really want to go again, being a little international student. I can’t or don’t really need to keep anything I get there, and I was so delerious and exhausted, it was like going to a rave, at a musuem, with an impromtu opera. Look at the prices of the covers, I had to call my dad to ask what people usually pay for these things. I honestly have lost my sense of what is expensive anymore, especially when you are paying and thinking in two different currencies.

The way back was not as bad. This time, I think the machine was working, or not, I didn’t really know what was going on. I didn’t pay for that fare either, but I had to get off early because I was getting too sick. I then had to carry the mattress topper down a thirty minute walk back to my apartment. Then it turns out it takes 72 hours for the thing to fluff itself.

But that is not so bad. I have now been to Ikea, ridden the bus, and have a softer bed.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s