In case you are ever in need of some oven mits or a bed frame while in Barcelona, the nearest IKEA is at Europa Fira station. From the subway stop at Plaza Espanya, you take the L8 train heading in the direction of Moli Nou. It's all very well marked, really, as I discovered on my third attempt to get there.
In my short time in Barcelona, I have been to IKEA approximately 5 or 6 times, each more resigned than the last. There are, however, two rewards awaiting me as I leave the store. The first is lingering damsel in distress validation, to increase which I always wear my lowest cut tops and make reasonably believable attempts to hoist 70 kg boxes into my cart within arm reach of some hot young guy or at least a dirty old man. My other reward is the IKEA hotdog, identical in Barcelona and Canada and no doubt the world over. Admittedly, the hotdog is a little limp and tired with a somewhat unappetizing hue. It's really impossible to do without condiments. It is, however, an improbably satisfying ending to a thoroughly trying day--a cheap thrill at the end of a root canal.