This post inspired by Lexagirl’s post here.
Once upon a time, ACWGF bought some stuff from IKEA. In fact, one might go so far as to say that had crappy, Swedish furniture been heroin, she would still be floating along on a cloud of dreams while the outside world stepped past her bloated and incontinet body.
She had moved out of her parent’s house, and she had a tiny room to move into. She had to make some creative furniture choices (read: cheap and dirty) and decided to buy a bookshelf for her books (duh) and a entertainment center for her clothes (Wha?!). At the time, it had more space than the dressers in the store because it was tall, and it took up less space into the room because it was, um, tall.
She also bought a nightstand, but there’s nothing funny about it. (Except that’s where she keeps all the whips, chains, full-body pleather catsuits, and lube.)
Anyway, the nightstand and the bookshelf went together with no trouble. This was my first time putting together IKEA furniture, and I had heard the horror stories, so I was pleasantly surprised. I also had a fairly high opinion of myself. I remember wearing a tinfoil crown, and standing on the balcony screaming that I was the God of Meatballs, and that I could fly.
Next, I took on the entertainment center. I think it sensed somehow that it was about to be used for something besides its primary purpose, and was able to summon all that is villainous and evil deep from within its fiberboard heart.
First, I put the thing all the way together, except for the doors and drawers. I figured I could do those last. We tilted the big bastard onto it’s feet, and shuffled ourselves down the hallway. Almost. It was too tall for the hallway.
No biggie, we’ll just lean it on it’s side. We tried again. Success!
Now, just a simple 90 degree turn into the doorway here. Oops, sorry about your wall. Oops. Oops. Damnit. Damnit! DAMNIT HELL ASS FART!
The big bastard was too bastard big. I dragged it back down the hallway to the living room, and took stuff off of it, one piece at a time, and tried to get it into the room without dismantling it completely. Finally, it went in, though after I had reversed about half of my work putting it together.
I went to work on the doors and drawers. The drawers were a snap, no trouble at all. This was nice, since the primary unit had just dragged me, ankles up and bare-assed, over a figurative mile of wild cacti. The doors, however, were a completely different story.
If you’ve never put IKEA furniture together before, you need to know that none of the directions have any words, just pictures. Fine by me, just keep it that way. Don’t show the hinge of the door going on to the hinge of the unit by simply putting the word “Click!” in the space where the two halves of hinge should join together.
I spent nearly a half hour trying to force those hinges together. I got, “Thunk” and I got “Bonk” and I got “Clunk.” Once, I even think I got a “Fuckoff,” but the hinges would not go together. Finally, I noticed something funny going on in the diagram, when in a fit of absolute rage, I stared screaming at the directions.
Those of you a) reading at work, b) offended by strings of obscenities, or c) reading this to children should,
a) skip the next part
b) skip the next part
c) read the next part and replace the word “Fuck,” or any derivative thereof, with bunny-wabbit
“Fuck you, you fuckin’ piece of fuck directions! I fuckin’ clicked! I fuckin’ clicked, and I fuckin’ clicked, and then I fuckin’ clicked again because you still wouldn’t fuckin’ work. What is your fuckin’ deal? Why won’t you just fuckin’ click? FUCKING CLICK! CLICK CLICK MOTHERFUCKER CLICK! FUCK!”
And, as I was about to perform some mighty juju on the paper so I could bring it to life before ripping it’s newly beating heart out and drinking the sweet voodoo blood that I was owed, I noticed that they had printed the picture of the interior hinge upside down.
I flipped the hinge, the door went “Click!” and I’m just about over the nervous tic that I developed from the whole experience.
Click!
