Where I live, for some ungodly reason, furnishing your home is illogically expensive.
The cheapest, most synthetic and breakable items will cost the equivalent of many hundreds of dollars, and will likely be ugly as all hell. I do not know why, probably something to do with shipping costs, corruption and global warming. And racism, because you know, that affects everything here.
The other day, I was trying to locate a carpet. You know, carpets? The thing that EVERY-fucking-ONE uses to cover cold, uninviting tiles until they can move into a fancy suburban home with beautiful wooden floors?
I was being assisted by a snarky twink who slapped me in the face with this sentence:
“Nobody buys non-persian carpets these days. I don’t know WHERE you got the IDEA that you could just FIND one at RANDOM. HA. HA. HA. HA.”
Maybe his erratic emphasis on certain words was a red flag for mental illness, but I slouched out of the store like the bread-line peasant I am and decided it was a better idea to go back home, lie on my hideous, exposed terracotta tiles and cut myself until I black out.
Things like couches, office chairs with wheels and wooden work desks are distant dreams, unless one of your friends or relatives suddenly expires and you are quick enough on your feet to break into their homes and steal shit before their assets are distributed fairly.
To my (maybe ignorant) mind, Ikea offers the chance to purchase affordable products, bite down on a leather strap while constructing them yourself, and then bask in the glory of a furnished home that hasn’t put you on welfare.
…it makes me emotional.