What do Ikea?

Earlier this week we went to Ikea. Once or twice a year I go, having vowed never to go again after each ocassion. Having driven up the A23 for an hour and twenty I parked in a nice spot. We went in and had a coffee. We walked round once slowly and once quickly and then stopped for lunch (no items selected at this point). Neither of us had meat balls. Then we made a bee line for the filing cabinet thingy we had decided on, queued to speak to a lady about the spec, she printed off our list and we made our way to the end of aisle 57 downstairs (via the congested market place). There was a gaggle of stressed customers hanging about at the "full service" desk, looking like they were at Bogota Airport waiting for news of friends and relatives from and lost plane. A notice advising that it would take 30 -45 minutes to get your stuff was scribbled on a white board. There were a number of tense interactions between the long suffering Ikea lady and customers. After an hour our boxes arrived and we headed off to the tills. Twenty minutes in that queue, we were ready to pay when I noticed that we did not have on our trolley what we had expected. By way of feeling I had achieved something, I bought it anyway. Remaining calm I drove cautiously out of the carpark, mounting the pavement only once.