Against better judgment, I tagged along to IKEA. The day had started so well: an early morning workout, then a rare writing flow – words landing where they should, sentences saying what I meant. It was one of those days when I thought: here is the formula, and I’ll run it again tomorrow. And then I was standing there. In front of a giant sign. With limpöu, translated ad copy:

Borrow Your Trolley Here.

It should have said:

Please Borrow Your Flat Trolley Here – You Will Be Needing It Very Soon.

That’s probably when and where my energy ran out. I’ve clearly reached an age where big-box stores drain me faster than I can say depletion. The noise. The crowds. People stopping dead to contemplate a napkin holder as if it held the answer to life (which, as we in the know already knew is 42).

Seven minutes into yesterday’s IKEA trauma, and my brain was an overheating air fryer ready to shut down. Somewhere past the lighting department, I started looking for a bench. I should’ve brought one of those foldable beach chairs to carry through “the snake,” as we used to call the maze back when I worked for Kamprad & Co. I’d unfold it between storage solutions and textiles while waiting for Charlotte, who is, after all, two years younger.

As we neared self-serve, the existential finale, it hit me how vast the IKEA machine really is: factories in China, India, Mexico, and Poland, all feeding some 500 stores worldwide on an endless loop. And if roughly 75% of the range is oil-based, there must be tankers everywhere, shipping crude to be turned into polypropylene, polyethylene, PVC, ABS, and other plastics, so that we can all buy those insanely practical, stackable, storage solutions with a tight-fitting lid.

So there I stood. Overstimulated. Slightly dizzy. I entered the store with energy, ambition, and self-respect – and left with tealights and other random stuff, and a hum in my head that lingers long after we finally found the car in the parking lot. I guess I’m too old for this shit. And yet, next time will likely be the same – against better judgment.