“Hej! Hjälp mig!” 

I call out to the infinite streams of smiling customers constantly, but they are too awestruck and overstimulated by the impeccable environment of Scandinavian design and innovation to notice my predicament. A LOMMARP here, a KALKGRUND there–a blue glass SVARTSJÖN catches the eye and they’re off to the next fun-filled showroom.  Believe me, I’ve tried to notify the workers, but the store staff are far too helpful and content to question my situation. They sidestep me placidly, restocking sets of ridiculously affordable STODJA and chic KRANSBORRE. 

I am trapped in an Ikea Showroom. I have been here for 13 days. It is a minimalist bedroom for children. Light blue VITVAL, adorable wooden dinosaur chair. Two GRÖNÖS illuminating the corners of the yellow walls and a play area filled with JÄTTELIKs and DJUNGELSKOGs. It is one of the cutest rooms I have ever been in. 

I am trapped in this Ikea Showroom, and this is my story. I have survived exclusively on Swedish Meatballs and choklad. I am starting to lose my grip on reality. No one seems to perceive me as a person anymore. For a week, I didn’t understand why. How, even in their intensely pacified and satisfied state, can they not recognize that I am TRAPPED IN THIS IKEA SHOWROOM AND NEED ASSISTANCE! Förbannelser!

But then, I overheard a conversation a lovely young couple had while observing me wave my hands around and jump up and down, beckoning them to get me out of this tiny, cozy, gender-neutral prison of perfection. 

“Honey, look at this!”

“Wow, what a high concept lamp.” 

I looked around me frantically, willing it not to be true, but they were looking right at me. 

People think I am a brilliantly high concept lamp. Those damned lovable Swedish home design genius bastard assholes! I think–well–I am starting to think I am but a high concept lamp too. Å Nej!