On the eve of Ikea’s much-hyped arrival in Auckland, a rain-soaked Greg Bruce braved one of the Swedish furniture giant’s ‘secret’ housewarming parties, where ennui, rather than mania or frenzy, was the prevailing emotion.
As I approached Meadowbank Station on Sunday morning, it started to rain and then to pour. The deluge continued as I got the train to Waitematā Station, and for the 10-minute walk from there to the Wynyard Quarter. Only four people were swimming in Browny’s pool, presumably ironically.
By the time I arrived at the venue, the Wynyard Pavilion bar, my lightweight button-up pink short-sleeve shirt, navy shorts and bucket hat were soaked through and I was really not in the mood. I was, it seemed, not the only one. Although the party had been going nearly an hour, it was not at all apparent it was a party. No one was waiting to get in and only a handful of people were standing or sitting around the outside tables.
Including staff, and rounding up, attendance was maybe 100. Given the intensity of the chatter about the imminent Auckland arrival of the world’s bluest furniture store, I expected a degree of mania, or at least frenzy, but the prevailing emotion was ennui. Before an empty dancefloor, the DJ spun the mellow soul of Maze feat. Frankie Beverly from decks atop a box made to look like a standard printed Ikea flatpack.
The box featured the company logo, a stylised image of a set of decks and the “product name” “DËKS”. For a furniture company, it was a pretty good joke. Underneath, it read: “Furniture for your next big “DËKS party”, which ruined it.
A pretty good joke, ruined.
I noticed that all the tables had what appeared to be packs of cards on them. When I stopped to pick one up, a woman nearby said to me: “Wax.” When I couldn’t think of a suitable reply, she added: “For your surfboard.”
To say it was a weird situation is to considerably understate the case. I was at a housewarming beach party – already a contradiction in terms – at a venue that was neither of those places. It was the start of summer and was bucketing with rain and I was soaking wet and had just obtained a package of wax for a product I had never used, let alone owned, produced by the world’s most famous furniture company.
The wax woman and her friend had come from Howick on the ferry. They had been to the house party – the first of Ikea’s three housewarming parties (there had also been a garage party) – on Friday night, where they had waited an hour to get in. Today, they had arrived 15 minutes before opening time, only to find no one else there and the event staff still finishing their setup.
The woman was cradling what I would later learn was a BLÅSVERK table lamp, in Ikea yellow. When I asked whether she’d bought it, she told me she’d “got it” from inside. “You mean free?” I asked. “Yes,” she said. I became irrationally excited. I asked how I might get one.
She told me she didn’t think there were any more lamps, but assured me there were plenty of other freebies. She waved her hand at the tables around us and I saw she was correct. Everyone seemed to be holding something: soft toy sharks, bees and turtles; Ikea blue sandcastle buckets; wooden model hands with movable joints. Thematically it was a shambles, but maybe that was the point: in a world of infinite stuff, nothing is more meaningless than the search for meaning. I had to admit it had a very Swedish death cleaning/metal feel to it.
From that moment on, all I could think about was free stuff. I saw an ugly Ikea yellow coat rack I would have no use for and asked the women if they thought I could “get it”. They said sure, why not. Emboldened, I picked it up, and thought about how I might look carrying it on the train. I started trying to unscrew it in the middle, but someone had crossed the thread while putting it together and now it was jammed. Also, my hands were wet and I noticed people were looking at me.
I approached one of the event staff and asked if I could take it. He said he didn’t think so, but said I might be able to get a shark or turtle. He didn’t seem to find the exchange unusual.
Boxes: the key to free stuff, and the ugly yellow coat rack.
I noticed a guy inside at a table by himself cradling a shark. He told me he’d found it in a box. He too had been at the house party and said the boxes were the key to free stuff. I noticed a pile of boxes by the wall and loitered nearby for a while but they were being guarded and I noticed the guard noticing me and became both aware and ashamed of the fact I was beginning to reek of acquisitional desperation.
Back outside, my new friends from Howick encouraged me not to give up. Half an hour or so later, a guy came past with a box of soft toys. A man at the table next door whooped as he got a shark. I put my hand up to ask for a bee, but he gave it to someone else.
Then, inexplicably, the people at the table next door to us left their table, leaving behind a wooden hand and Ikea blue plastic sandcastle bucket. “They’re yours,” one of my Howick friends said. “Are you sure?” I said. “Yes,” they said firmly. So I took them. We celebrated with a round of beers. My pilsner was $16.50.
Before I left, I stopped by the toilets and put the wooden hand in my messenger bag. I wasn’t stealing it. Not really. The plastic sandcastle bucket wouldn’t fit in the bag, so I just had to brazen that one out. No one stopped me. I was elated. When I turned around, I noticed my friends from Howick in discussion with one of the staff. They looked despondent. Their lamp had been confiscated.
As I walked down the eastern Viaduct and onto Customs Street, I reflected on the disposable nature of our consumerist society and Ikea’s contribution to it. The wind was howling and the rain lashing in. By the time I arrived back at Waitematā Station, I was once more thoroughly soaked. As I fumbled for my AT Hop card, I dropped my stolen sandcastle bucket and the handle fell off. It felt like a meaningful moment, or at least a telling detail. Then I looked at the tag. It was from The Warehouse.