I have often thought about what it would be like to live and die in IKEA, surrounded by series of modular furniture goodness all arranged in row upon numbered row of alphabetized perfection.
A funeral in IKEA would call for nothing less than an EXPEDIT coffin in a birch veneer or black-brown color, depending on whether or not you are going for modern or a bit more classic. It would have a drawer on the bottom where you could, hypothetically, store a printed collection of all of the blogs you ever wrote and the eulogies from those who attended the funeral.
You would never know if everyone came for you or for the Swedish meatballs and soft ice-cream vending machines, and it wouldn’t really matter.
The hinges on the coffin would be no less than made by Häfele and would close ever so softly so as not to hurt or pinch anyone’s fingers in the process?
There would be cookies in the shape of Alan keys and plenty of yellow flowers placed in REKTANGEL vases dispersed all around on the royal blue table cloths. Everyone would go home with the newest IKEA catalogue and a bag of VÄRDE knobs because any less would be a modular furniture fan’s worst nightmare.
Surely Ingvar Kamprad, the founder and owner of IKEA (the word IKEA is a combination of the initials of his first name, the farm Elmtaryd where he grew up and Agunnaryd his hometown, but you already knew that) would want to show his appreciation for the many hours during your life spent in bed, in the bathroom or in transit pouring over the latest IKEA catalogue and would speak lovingly about your appreciation for all things Swedish.
As a final gesture and an indication of his good will, he would end his eulogy by announcing the launch of a new line of furniture called MASONSKY (or something equally memorable) just to pay tribute to someone who had a great appreciation for IKEA style, cheap Swedish cuisine and the only place in the world that still sells a BOLMEN toilet brush for under a dollar.
But what about life in IKEA?
What would it be like to live every day of your life in the fantasy of a 1250 square foot IKEA apartment complete with an always perfectly made bed, fluffy pillows, suitable bedside lighting and a coordinating throw blanket at the foot of the bed, positioned in such a way to look like whomever was using it will be right back in just a moment? To have a living room filled with empty book covers that coordinate with those colorful candle holders on the coffee table and randomly placed laptops, phones and TVs that are mere hollow shells of their parallel machines in the real world.
Wouldn’t we all feel at home, after all, home IS IKEA. The BILLY bookcase in the living room tells me so. Most IKEA fans can hardly dispute the fact that there would be nothing more blissful than to start every day of your life to the rich aroma of an IKEA bistro cinnamon bun and coffee, all for the reasonable price of approximately $2. To then open up your PAX closet with its FARVIK sliding doors and take out those perfectly hanging clothing, get dressed and go to work.
So where would you go to work in that perfect IKEA utopia? Right around the corner in the “office” department, where storage options are endless, work is never neglected and loose papers rarely remain un-filed or stay on the desk for longer than they need to be; after all this is a little piece of perfectly organized, office space heaven.
In my IKEA I would eventually become known as the fastest “Alan key” in the west and would be granted a “Swedish Meatball Gold Card” granting the holder permission to eat as many Swedish meatballs as they desired for the rest of their modular furniture life.
Life would be efficient, replaceable and always come with a warranty;
Easy to take apart and easy to put back together again.
How could life not be good in that little piece of IKEA heaven?