Nina In New York: Swedish People Are So Smart
A young professional's take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.
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By Nina Pajak
You beautiful Swedish bastards. You've done it again.
First you figured out those juicy little meatballs, which was some stellar work. If you'd have stopped there, you'd still be ahead. Then my first car was a Volvo, and despite her well-earned nickname, Miss Fortune, I loved her very much. Maximum points awarded. Also: the smorgasbord, which is fun both to eat and pronounce, Ace of Base, a bizarrely attractive national population and a solid historical neutrality policy. Just terrific. Way to contribute, Sweden.
But they outdid themselves when they figured out a way to sell inexpensive, deconstructed, flattened furniture to droves of people willing to take a correspondence course in carpentry in order to assemble a particleboard bookshelf. Ah, Ikea. Not only that, but they have people flocking to buy said bookshelves in unmanageably enormous stores from which a quick escape—and by that I mean anything under four hours—is basically unthinkable.
I went only once, with my husband. By the time we reached the registers, I was exhausted, but Mr. Pajak was experiencing a violent break from reality. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. His breathing was quick and shallow. He kept pulling tufts of hair out of his head and rubbing his face repeatedly. He could not respond to verbal stimuli in a coherent way, instead stuck in an endless and increasingly frantic chant: "Ektorp. Karlstad. Benno. Benno. BENNO!" I felt badly for him, but not that badly because we furnished our entire apartment and saved a bundle. Plus, we got to use our power drill when we got home! He loves the power drill, I swear.
Well, now those crazy Swedes have gone and cooked up something new (and it isn't pickled herring). It's called "Manland," and it may be coming to an Ikea near us. Imagine that our trip to Ikea didn't go the way it had. Imagine that after a little bit of shopping, I'd taken my husband by the hand and led him to an adult playroom filled with other spouses who also lose thousands of brain cells with every living room set they encounter. There in that testosterone-filled wonderland, he could sit, nap, play video games, watch sports and eat free hot dogs. After his allotted thirty minutes, he'd have been rested, I'd have accomplished some things (though realistically, how many?), and we could perhaps have not wound up in the Bellevue psych ward that evening.
Apparently, not everyone in New York is so keen on this concept. Some think it reinforces old-fashioned and unfair gender stereotypes. That may be true, though it seems as though my marriage suffers the same problem. Honestly, I'm okay with it. I genuinely enjoy shopping for housewares, and my husband genuinely wants to hurl himself out of a window when I bring him with me. Similarly, I'd rather be knocked unconscious than sit and watch a football game for 30 consecutive minutes. It's fine. We're cool with it. It's okay to fit the stereotype every once in a while, and what's more, it's okay to have a sense of humor about it.
However, it's important to acknowledge that not every relationship fits the mold, so I'd propose making the facility more gender neutral to accommodate male-female role reversals and gay and lesbian couples. They don't just have to play sports on the flatscreens. They can play sitcoms and movies and episodes of "Jersey Shore" (everyone likes that show, whether they admit it to themselves or not). And they don't have to call it Manland. They can simply call it "Adult Daycare," or "Immature Grown-up Land," or "Playroom for Gigantic Babies," or "Way More Fun Than Comparing Cabinet Finishes No Matter Who You Are Land."
The possibilities are broad here. The important thing to realize is that the concept is brilliant and should be adopted not just by furniture stores, but by all retail spaces whose customers tend to linger for hours and which cater to people with a very specific level of tolerance for their products. For instance: car dealerships, electronics stores, department stores, Bed, Bath & Beyond, L.L. Bean, flooring and carpeting stores, Home Depot, and that nightmarish Toys 'R' Us in Times Square (each parent could take a turn in the daycare).
Sure, if you agree to be placed in one of these holding rooms, you lose out on the opportunity to say, "A 72" television? Are you insane?" Or, "That is the ugliest couch I have ever seen in my life," but that's the price you must pay for a little peace amid abject misery. It seems entirely fair to me.
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Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I'm always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.
Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.
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