The Curse of IKEA

My tale begins November 1, when I decided it would be best to provide curtains for the children to protect them from the pedophiles of the world, and to get a shower curtain.  What better place to go than IKEA, right?  WRONG.  Our local IKEA is approximately three times the size of WalMart, on separate floors.  There are no neat isles, they create a maze of turns so you are forced to see all the "mock-up" rooms.  A smart Frau looks at the directory to work her way through the maze efficiently.  Great idea, if you can read German!  So off I go, my quest for house linens.

I had 11/2 hours to complete my expedition.  The IKEA terminology/names of products are all created in honor of who invented them, so eventually I narrowed my search down to the KVARTAL system of hanging curtains to be compatible with what is in my house.  Running a little short on time, I battled my way to shower curtains, only to find out that the one I need is totally non standard.  Any one know where I can find a seven foot long shower curtain? 

I decided not to push my luck with time, and eventually found the exit, deciding that it was best to return another day.   You have to pay for parking here, and I could not find the kiosk to pay for parking anywhere.  I went in the store, out of the store, at the registers, outside the front.  Eventually a soul took pity on me and showed me that the kiosk is in the basement.  Logical, since most of the parking is on the first floor. 

Yesterday, I decided I would slay the IKEA beast.  I had four hours, measurements in hand, tracings of my narrow curtain railings, researched all different curtain hanging systems, and had even stretched out.  I was ready.  I went to the local train station, purchased a ticket that she said would cover me for bus/train out of Dietikon for the next 24 hours, and I was off.

The bus was bouncing through the picturesque Swiss countryside when the bus driver pulled over suddenly, and the driver made an announcement.  Four imposing looking men, dressed in blue boarded the bus.  Two on the front, two on the back, trapping the riders.  I figured out that they were ticket checkers, since the transit system is on a honor system, with periodic inspections.  No prob, just got the ticket, got it validated, I have this under control.  WRONG AGAIN!  The woman at the counter sold me the wrong ticket.  I was pulled off the bus, interrogated, forced to show my identification (thank God I had my passport), all in German.  The bus pulled away, and the men continued to harass me.  One of them spoke broken English, and I explained that I had just bought the ticket, look at the time on the ticket, I did what I was told.  No mercy, gave me a $80 bill, berated me for not knowing that had just crossed into the Canton of Argyle, and that I may not continue on my journey in the same direction. 

OK, I wept like a baby, I admit it.  I could never be a criminal.

I trudged two miles back into Dietikon, legally caught a bus, and went back to the train station that sold me the ticket.  Luckily the manager there had witnessed me buying the ticket, saw the problem, and arranged a pardon for my fine.  I was a mess. 

I still have to go to IKEA.  Next time I will be prepared with a stiff drink.