After searching the self-serve IKEA computers proves fruitless, I go to the help counter where the large, friendly man assures me I did nothing wrong.
“Those computers are retarded,” he says, shaking his head as he types in my search query. His use of the term “retarded” raises an eyebrow with me, but I don’t feel like getting into it, so I let it slide.
“There you go,” he says finally, and directs me to the aisle and bin I need with a smile and a wave.
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