Every morning at 9 a.m., the bright yellow furniture store opens its doors to a line of customers waiting patiently outside. Staff dressed in yellow and blue polo shirts matching Ikea’s logo greet families as they shuffle through a revolving door the size of a car.
Shoppers are welcomed by the scent of cedar and upholstery as they walk between demonstration rooms. A staff member apologizes profusely as he pushes a line of shopping carts across the entranceway like a giant centipede gliding across the smooth concrete floor.
After the carts are put into their receptacle, a young mother takes one of those carts and places her toddler into the folding child seat. As she turns her head away to examine a discounted 16-piece cutlery set, the boy leans out of the cart and tumbles headfirst to the floor. The mother gasps in horror as she sees turns around, picks him up, and coddles her wailing child.
Several sections over, an elderly man holding a stubby wooden pencil in one hand and a paper tape measure in another roams the store with a staff member hoping to find his wife.
“Is that her?” The staff member with a nametag reading Clarice asks as she points to an elderly woman with a head of brilliantly white hair.
“No,” the man says shaking his head. “She’s a redhead.”
“Okay, she’s a redhead, let’s keep looking,” Clarice says as the pair disappear into the checkout area.
Shoppers awkwardly navigate around each other as they try to negotiate the tight aisles near the checkout counters while maintaining a safe distance from one another. Staff at the exit bid customers a cheery farewell, as a rush of frigid air gushes in to welcome departing customers back outdoors.
