I have a theory (or dang it, a self-fulfilling prophecy), that the last one (screw you have to screw in, nail you need to hammer in, or the last leg of the chair you need to attach) will be the toughest. If something is to go wrong, it’s at that final stretch, as you marvel at how easy it was putting XYZ together and can’t wait to move the shelves into your closet so you can start putting your tiny pig figurine collection in place and stack your sweaters neatly, that the last—whatever it is—is when things go south. You have get down from the ladder, get another screw, or nut, or nail. Ehhh …and you were so close to done.
Either the part won’t go in, gets stuck, or you drop the last bolt or screw and the little bastard goes careening under the refrigerator or worse ends up (you hear it rolling and wince) to some un-retrievable place to spend its eternity.
With Ikea furniture, yes, that bookcase that would be perfect for J, every piece of IKEA furniture has the built-in potential to be the “last screw.” Nothing but problems with this stuff that’s packed so neatly in the box with a deceptive siren call faintly singing … “This will be a cinch, you’ll have it together before dinner.”
Not so much. For most of the process—if you’re like me—you’re angry, hot, sweaty, on the floor, pushing the cat away, grabbing the instructions again and spewing expletives at how stupidly and needlessly complicated putting these crappy shelves together are. And that little strange smiling guy in the instructions who seems to know exactly what to do? He doesn’t. He leaves out important steps and tips such as: “make sure you are putting this weird round screwy screw in the right place because you can’t undo it once it’s in.” You can’t go back.
You’d think that little detail would be important to mention, wouldn’t you? A screw you can’t reverse engineer? Reverse engineering requires a hammer, a butter knife, banging the piece on the floor, hitting the back of it, shaking it, and screaming at the cat to get out of the way!
No, the little guy suggests you call IKEA if you get stuck. And yeah, like I want to stop what I am doing in the heat of the moment and get on the horn with the Call Center in the Philippines and explain this nonsense when my frustration level is at its highest and I can’t understand what customer service guy is saying, though I do get that he is “Very sorry for the inconvenience it has caused me and for my frustration.” No, you’re not. You’re reading a script and texting your friends while on the phone with me.
I was rotten one time. My friend who is an engineer came over and asked if he could help me with anything around the house. I pointed to the IKEA box and said, “Oh, could you put that together? It’s just a simple coffee table.”
Just a simple coffee table. Yep. My engineer was on the floor, reverse engineering, flipping pages of the instructions back and forth, and 45 minutes in, he asked for me a butter knife.
Which brings me to the roller cart from “h” “e” double hockey sticks. The other day, J and I bought from IKEA one of these rolly cart things with pop-in wheels that holds all of your art stuff and gets you all organized. It looked like a breeze, just three basket-like holders, too sides to connect them, wheels, what could be so hard about that? I thought.
But we get it home and everything out of the box including a plastic bag of I’d say 40 little parts, which was the first clue this was not going to go well, and my gawd, it took two people, pinching metal together until it hurt my thumbs, a shouting match between J and I, “Where’s the screw don’t lose that screw!!” a half a dozen expletives, complaints at how stupidly difficult this process was until we finally get the thing together and the bottom bloody shelf is crooked!
CROOKED!?
We went through all of that and the bottom tray is crooked!? J said, “It’s okay mommy,” at which point I reasoned with myself. There is no way I could have done this alone. J said there was no way we were going to go back and do it all again just to straighten the bottom shelf. Crooked is fine.
Put stuff in it, no one will know, I said. And, to this day, no one does.
—SBM
Single Busy Mommy 