The Wilds of the Mall of America

I had meetings in St. Paul today, so after I decided to attempt the near unthinkable. I went to IKEA at Mall of America to find some wired sockets for lamps that I may make. I have only been to the MoA a couple three times in the 20 years that it has been open, then usually to step in and out of Nordstrom's without hitting the main mall. I have never been in IKEA, which is in a separate free standing building adjacent to the Mall.

I find the right freeway exit and entrance to get into the IKEA parking. In fact, I get to park in a space right across from the lower level entrance. Across the drive and into the building, up one floor and into the MAZE. I'm thinking that this is going to be terrible. Where the hell will the power cords be? I turn the first corner, and there in the bin, just past the Swedish meatball food stand (which inexplicably had a line waiting for service), were the cords. I piled 6 cords into the wierd yellow shopping bag and exalted in how easy this is going to be. I then spend the next 20 minutes trying to find the checkout.

There are signs impaled in the ceiling the have arrows pointing to the exit. Around and around on the curving pathways with no straight lines and no lines of site. I asked for help, it didn't. I was feeling that the seasoned shoppers were buying the meatballs so they could leave a crumb path to the exit. I walked and sashayed pasted bins for $5 enviromentally friendly lifebulbs (where a $1 of each purchase was given to help African children who will never see a $5 bulb (or even electricity) in their life. I went sort of north, sort of east and past the same kiosk from three different dirrections. I heard a 20's something couple discuss the pros and cons of a coffee grinder. I saw many strange and a few wonderful things, but no meatball shards and no exit. Around and around I go and then there in the ceiling a convergence of arrows pointing to the EXIT. It takes 15 minutes to check out , because while there are hundreds of lanes only a couple were open. I buy my cords and find out that IKEA makes you buy a special shopping bag (made from recycled fibers I am sure). No plastic bag to carry my cords. I grab an empty cart, get my bearings through the first window that I've seen and head to my truck.

I dump the cart in an unapproved area, because I wasn't going to walk to the cart corral without meatball fragments to mark the return pathway. I was not impressed with IKEA and will not be looking forward to my next excursion to the MoA.

Mr. Flannery