Lost iPod in Ikea


Have you ever gotten that bad sinking feeling when you think you’ve lost something? What about your iPod? David, a friend of ours who works down the hall, just had an awful experience we wouldn’t wish on any iPod owner.

Here’s David’s ‘Lost iPod in Ikea’ story, in his own words:

“My 40G iPod was just a few weeks old. I was in the process of loading it up with music.

It immediately became indespensible… it quickly found a permanent place in my black bag, along with all my other indespensible things: Palm Pilot, Swiss Army Knife, small flashlight, car keys, etc. My kids called the black bag my “work bag.”

One day, I was driving to work. With me in the car, aside from my “work bag”, I had a medium-box that I wanted to return before work at Ikea, in Elizabeth, NJ. It wasn’t as crazy as it sounds. I didn’t have to be at work until 11:00 that day. Since Ikea is right next to the NJ Turnpike, it wouldn’t be that far out of the way for me. If I arrived at the store early enough, I could be outta there in fifteen minutes, I thought.

I parked the car next to customer service. I grabbed my bag, and loaded the box that I was returning onto a cart, and went inside. Great — there were not many other people waiting. I took a number. I sat on a bench, my black bag beside me. I was outta there in less than fifteen minutes, and on my way to work.

Within about twenty minutes, I was in the city, parking the car. I turned to pick up my work bag on the seat beside me . It was not there. Alarmed, I hoped it was on the back seat for some reason, as I quickly looked in the back. It wasn’t in the back either. Where’s my bag?! Where’s my f###### bag!!?? @#%$!! I must have left my bag in f###### Ikea!!! [email protected]#$%!! MY BAG!! MY NEW iPOD!! I felt sick.

Seele der MusikindustrieI had been sitting in my car for quite a while, unable to reach anyone at Ikea in Elizabeth, New Jersey. I decided to go to work. Sadly, I figured that I could resume my desperate efforts at work. It probably would not make any difference. I got to my desk and called once more. “Thank you for calling Ikea. Please listen carefully to all of the following nine menu options which have recently changed. For furniture press…. for lighting… bedding…”

I felt sick and dejected. There had to be another phone number at Ikea in Elizabeth, New Jersey. In desperation, I dialed the main switchboard at the building where I worked. “Hi, my name is…,” I began. I proceeded to describe my stupidity and my problem to the company operator. She offered to connect me to local telephone information in Elizabeth, NJ. “Yes, thank you,” I replied. I hoped that maybe this might yield a different phone number than I got earlier from 411 on my cell.

“Verizon information,” said a voice. “What city please?” “Hi. Elizabeth, please. Ma’am, I have a problem. See, I’m desperately trying to reach Ikea’s Customer Service or any person at Ikea…” I explained my stupidity and my problem to another telephone operator. “Well,” she offered, “I do have a number for Ikea in Elizabeth that’s separate from their main store… for repairs,” she said. “Yes, yes! Please! Thank you!” She even connected me.

A phone rang somewhere… A human being answered, “Hello.” “”Hi!” I exclaimed. “Ikea? Hi.” I thanked him for being a real live human being, and not a recording. “My name’s David. I have a very serious problem. I was in Customer Service at the Ikea store in Elizabeth about ninety minutes ago….” I explained my stupidity and my problem yet again. “I am desperately trying to reach someone in the Customer Service area at the main store in Elizabeth. Are you able to connect me and also give me the direct phone number?” He gave me the number and connected me.

Finally, the telephone was ringing somewhere in Elizabeth. “Ikea,” a voice answered. “Is this customer service?” I asked hopefully. It is, he said. I got his name. Thank God, I thought. One more time, I explained about the lost bag containing all my stuff. “I haven’t seen it,” he said. He sounded bored. “Would you be able to check for me, please?” I asked. “Hold on,” he said.

I waited on the phone anxiously. He got back on the phone. “This bag… did it have any writing on the outside?” he asked me. “Writing? I don’t know… let me think,” I answered. “Tumi!” I exclaimed “It’s a Tumi bag! It says Tumi!.” “Yeah, I’ve got it,” he told me.

Boy, was I one lucky stupid mother######, I thought. I think I even said that to him. I aksed him if he’d check inside the bag, for all my things, especially ny new iPod. He told me that he was not allowed to open the bag, which made sense. I thanked him again, and told him that someone would come by and get the bag.

I made one last call to my wife. Before asking her to please drive to Ikea and get my bag, I had to tell her what had happened. It was easier to tell strangers about my stupidity, I’d say.

I still have my iPod. Now if I can just find my wallet… I think I left it in my pants.