Like most Americans, I go to Ikea for the escalators. As you descend from the cafeteria into housewares, your shopping cart descends with you -- on a separate but equal escalator next to you. It's a thrill to see your merchandise transported proudly, out in the Schaumburg open-air store, and not just shunted off to a cramped, anonymous elevator.

And it's a treat, I like to think, for the carts.

But Ikea also sells many reasonably priced products, about which I have no complaint. I bought an entire four-piece, faux-teak lawn furniture set for $100, and it hasn't buckled under me yet.

I, myself, assembled a two-drawer storage unit that now holds burp cloths and Desitin. More than one person has commented on its charm.

Ikea would be perfect, really, if it weren't for that nagging feeling: That maybe -- just maybe -- the Swedes are making fun of us.

It's the product names. They can't be for real.

If you think ordering a J. Crew sweater in the color "yam" is embarrassing, try requesting Ikea's "Jerker" desk in large.

The "Billy" shelving system isn't so bad, but the "Fartfull" workbench and the "Beslut" chair are pushing it.

It's almost as though the names are meant to sound Swedish, without actually meaning anything. Their only purpose is to sound exotic. Imported. "Svinga." "Malm." "Muck." "Slabang." "Nipper." "Ingolf." "Herman." The "Lessebo" sofa?

They seem to be mad at us. Is it because we confuse them with Switzerland?

The evil genius behind Ikea is named Ingvar Kamprad, and I'm pretty sure he has something to do with all this. He was in the news back in April, when a Swedish magazine claimed Kamprad was a richer man than Bill Gates.

But Forbes magazine says Gates is still No. 1, and ranks Kamprad at No. 13, with a mere $18.5 billion to his name.

No wonder he has an ax to grind.

I imagine Kamprad, in the voice of the Muppets' Swedish chef, snarling at his troops: "Vulgar, lazy Americans! They will buy anything. Name this bedroom set after a slug. Now!"

And we're buying it. Ikea has announced it will open a second Illinois location in Bolingbrook, as early as fall 2005.

After a little more research -- which I really hate to do -- I learned that Ikea says it has a naming system. Sort of.

Bathroom items are named for Scandinavian bodies of water. Garden furniture is named for Swedish islands. Children's items are named for mammals, birds, and adjectives. Chairs and desks have male names. Fabrics and curtains have female names.

Then it gets complicated. Dining sets have Finnish names. Carpets have Danish names. Some names are in Norwegian.

Upon further research -- which I really, really hate to do -- the naming system seems to fall apart. Take the aforementioned "Beslut" chair. It's supposed to have a male name.

But according to a Swedish-English translation dictionary, beslut does have a meaning: "decision; resolution." Here, I'll use it in a sentence: "Agaren har overklagat halsovardsnamndens beslut att stanga krogen."

And what loving mother, no matter what her nationality, would name her beautiful baby boy Beslut?

Which pretty much confirms my original theory: that Ikea is just messing with us.

So I have come to a beslut. I'm not as gullible as the Swedish think I am. No longer will I hasten to the bright blue-and-yellow monolith, to blindly throw money at textiles named to mock me.

Instead, I will go for the meatballs with lingonberries.

Copyright The Chicago Sun-Times, Inc.
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.

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