Derek's Inferno

Somehow I had gone my whole life without ever visiting a chain of Swedish Furniture Outlets, at the time this didn't seem like much of an achievement. I've never been to Polish Car Dealership or a New Zealand Waffle Maker, though I bet the Polish would make some pretty reliable cars.

Last week this all changed as my sister Emily and her husband Chris (experienced Swedish Furniture Outlet shoppers) wanted to take my brother Will, my girlfriend Amanda and a friend of my girlfriends to get stuff for their new places as they prepared to start a new year of university. Being the dutiful brother and boyfriend that I am I agreed to tag along as soon as I got off work.

My instructions were to take the Swedish Furniture Outlet's courtesy shuttle to get there, but when I arrived at the pick up point the shuttle was no where to be seen and I was hardly in the mood to wait around for it. Being born and raised and a big city where you could walk to everything I made a mistake I've made far to often all across the continent, I believed I could walk it.

The thing about the Swedish Furniture Outlet is that the largeness of its building, topped only by the largeness of it's epically flat and barren parking lots, forces it to the outskirts of the city, with all of the other big box stores, a sort of freak show at the edge of the fair.

"Not for the faint of heart but to your right you'll see a store the length of two football fields that sells nothing but bean bags!" Everyone gasps as they take in the freak of shopping nature, "how can such a thing exist?" one would ask in amazement before adding, "man I hope they take debit, I could use bean bags in every room of my house!"

And so there I was, on the edge of Sanity and Suburbia, convinced that I could navigate the streets towards the store in the distance. Why I thought I could do this I'll never know, in my experience suburban streets dip and loop, seeming to want to avoid straight lines at all costs, quite often by the time you reach the end of one long and pointless curve you'll realize the street has no exit. These needlessly long journeys down arching streets are made worse by the monotony of seeing identical home after identical home, your sanity kept only by the fact that some cookie cutter homes have basketball nets on the side of their driveway, some do not.

My walk became longer and longer and just as tiredness was letting me have it for choosing to walk I found I had looped right back to where I began, the courtesy shuttle waiting for me like some cruel joke.

It's tough to say anything bad about the courtesy shuttle, for had I not gotten aboard I may still be wandering the streets right now, but all the same the small bus had wooden 'seats' running down both sides of it, forcing passengers to sit face to face with their fellow travelers, our knees practically touching. It felt more like we were being shipped off to some sort of war, my fellow travelers and I prepared to do battle against the insurgents in bedding and linen.

When we arrived at the parking lot for the Swedish Furniture Outlet I fought the urge to storm the beaches and instead met up with my party.

As my fellow shoppers began loading up on things for their dorm rooms I wandered along amazed, the store was carefully crafted so that one had to wander down a path through each department, never missing one. Windows and clocks were non existent, unless they were for sale in the windows and clocks section. The store was beautifully crafted to ensure you'd see see every object that was for sale without ever having a concept of how long you had been in there or that there was a world beyond this windy path of 'Swedish' goods. I was finding myself throughly impressed and appalled all at the same time by these manipulative tactics.

Then there was the Swedish. Every product had it's own Swedish name. If you wanted to buy a rectangle bowl you were buying the Rektangle tm. As far as shopping experiences go with the girlfriend this one was looking up, at least I could learn the Swedish word for over priced - poorly constructed lamp (that's " över kosta - torftig anlägga lampa " I believe). If I could learn the Spanish name for mini skirt my easily distracted mind may be more tolerable on some of her other shopping ventures.

But then, as any outing with me seems to do, things took a turn for the worst.

I had the sudden and unrelenting need to go to the washroom. This was no big deal at first, I split off from everyone else and began to follow the signs to the restroom. At first I expected it to be just around the corner, when this was not so I figured it would just be another turn or two on the Swedish twisty path, but it was not.

Suddenly as I found myself wandering from rugs to bathroom accessories (a cruel irony if ever there was one) it occurred to me I was trapped in the nine circles of Swedish hell.

As I darted through the first circle I couldn't help but think how tempting several show toilets looked, but I had to say strong, surely another bend or two in the path would lead me to salvation.

I arrived in lighting, our second circle of Swedish hell, where one is convinced by the charming name and reasonable price to buy a paper bag over a light bulb and set it up within their home proudly, for reasons their friends will never understand.

Another sign with an arrow towards the washroom lay ahead, and either hope or wishful thinking filled me, I bounded around the next corner and straight into the circle known as Prints and Frames, where one could buy I concede some beautiful paintings, but with so many of the same print for sale you just know someone would come over to your house and go "oh, Swedish Furniture Outlet, I saw that on sale a few weekends ago".

I continued my journey deeper and deeper into Swedish hell, finding myself bombarded by Swedish words like Vildbar or Smyekn as I searched desperately for the 'toalette' as Swedish hell may call it.

As I passed through the end of Home Decoration I seemed to be getting close, the maze of paths and shelves of things were coming to an end, the building was changing around me, surely this must be where the washroom would be found.

It wasn't.

In fact I was in Self Serve Furniture, a warehouse where customers could grab pieces of furniture off racks upon racks. I contemplated how one would self serve themselves some furniture on the top shelf, wondering if letting Joe Suburban use a forklift would end well. My concern for the safety of the people trapped shuffling around this circle of Swedish hell passed quickly as my own needs took center stage again.

I ran through the checkout, passed the Swedish Foodmarket, finally arriving to where the signs had began leading me to several hours or days ago. There were two individual washrooms, individual... individual. For a store of such massive size there were two washrooms that could be used for a maximum of two people at a time. Nearby there was a sign cheerfully telling me if these were in use I could find additional washrooms at the front of the store.

I pulled out my cell phone, prepared to call my brother and tell him to avoid Bathroom Accessories for the next little while, as something bad was about to go down.

My cell phone had no service, I was cut off from the rest of my party, lost and still desperately searching for my salvation. Lost in Swedish hell I began my journey all over again.

If you ever find yourself traveling through the nine circles of Swedish hell my one piece of advice for you is this, check out the Cooking and Eating circle, they've got some fantastic deals on bägare's!

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