Some assembly required

Yesterday it dawned on me that our Total Home Office Make-Over project has entered a new realm: I found myself asking a dear group of church ladies to pray for us. Thanks a lot, IKEA.

Later, it was with a touch of resignation, defeat, and wistfulness in his voice that Rob peered behind sweat-streaked glasses and proclaimed, “I managed to live 49 years without ever having to build IKEA furniture.” I don’t think this was an answer to the prayers.

The words came while standing in our freshly painted home office amongst so much cardboard and wordless instruction sheets and tiny little metal crowbar screwdriver thingys. Rob was knee-deep in a 16 cubbied Kallax shelving unit that apparently only weighs about 160lbs. Me, I was observing from the comfort of the futon I had just cleaned of all the cat fuzz. I’m doing my part, by request.

Photo taken from the futon

You see, the day before I had tried so very hard to help. We had a 4 cubbied shelving unit that I was certain I could master all on my own while Rob busied himself dominating two desks. I now view my naively optimistic undertaking as an admirable effort to understand and appreciate Rob’s pain and agony. With some time and distance and a cold beverage, he eventually thanked me.

It really did look tantalizingly easy, the small shelving unit assembly. The instructions were all of 4 pages and were filled with large drawings of arrows and hands. Because IKEA sells their fine Swedish pressed board all over the world, they save a lot of time, paper, and clarity by not including any words with their instructions. It’s basically a DIY Pictionary game.

On Step 1 I managed to strip some screws and Rob had to rescue me.

On Step 3, I first realized the Pictionary drawings are very precise and one must pay close attention to the location of all the tiny dots representing screw holes. The dots aren’t just there for decoration, people. I was screwed. Rob had to rescue me.

Later on Step 3, it was confirmed that I do not do arms at the gym. Rob and his manly strength came to my rescue.

This was also the step at which I learned that a palm does not a good hammer make. At least my palm. My left one is now sporting a purple bruise with blue undertones (much like our new walls) from where I pounded it against the support piece to get the shelf pieces to slide into place. The little tool summary didn’t include a hammer so I recklessly assumed I didn’t need one. I should have used a hammer. Instead, I used Rob. He’s very handy.

He looks so happy because he still believes this is all he will need

On Step 6, I learned that size matters in those drawings. Little screw hole dots are very different than little screw hole zeroes. So much unscrewing.

On Step 8, I discovered that I had made a fatal error back on Step 2 and needed to rotate a board. More unscrewing. And a few choice words. Rob wisely abandoned his file cabinet assembly and hovered lovingly as I insisted I am a smart person and could do this.

There were only 8 steps. I had only managed to get half of them right the first time. I pride myself on being very detail oriented and an accomplished puzzle-put-er-together-er. Yet in 4 easy steps IKEA managed to crush my ego and spirit of Badass Instruction Follower.

I tried to look at the finished shelves with pride of a job well-done, but the truth is that Rob put it together. I was the toddler who insisted on “I DO IT!” and instead created a wake of work and fixes for the grown-up following behind me. Rob is an incredibly patient man. Have I mentioned that?

The shelving unit "I" built.  Please note the crowbar tool collection on the futon armrest.
Also please note that Rob added the drawer inserts for me.  I know better...now.

I spent the rest of the assembly project doing laundry, making dinner, toting cardboard to the recycling bin, and otherwise admiring Rob’s engineering studliness from the futon. Because, thankfully, Rob and I managed to have a very open, honest, loving conversation in which he safely told me that my “helping” was making things worse and he’d really rather play Pictionary all by himself.

I am very proud of us, actually, especially in light of the wise words of an IKEA-savvy friend, Eileen, who mused, “IKEA should sell supplemental insurance for divorces caused by their furniture. Always a challenge.” Oddly, that makes me feel better.

As do these words of experience from Byron: "Once you figure it out, the instructions make perfect sense. Unfortunately, that is invariably too late."

I have decided that IKEA stands for "I Know Everything Afterwards."

I suddenly felt like I was officially a member of a vex-filled club when one friend immediately identified my new Facebook profile picture as being from the IKEA Pictionary Playbook.  Others chimed in to commiserate and wish us luck. Apparently the frustration and challenge of Swedish Pressboard Assembly is well-known amongst those who have dared to try.

Wait a minute!  He has a hammer!  No fair!  Cheater McCheaterpants!
Wait, he doesn't have pants. No wonder he's confused.

As of this morning, I have two shelving units, two desks, and three filing cabinets all assembled and ready to go. Rob is an IKEA STUD!

I am especially impressed by the filing cabinets. Although I was there when we bought them in heavy flat boxes, it didn’t occur to me until yesterday that I didn’t really know you could assemble a file cabinet. I thought you just bought them. You know, all in one piece already. IKEA continues to take what I thought I knew and turn it upside down and around with arrows and disembodied hands.

See?  Heavy.

Because we are apparently masochists, Rob and I are heading back to IKEA today for more punishment. We need to return a couple of items and buy one more little shelving unit which I am quite certain I am not smart enough to assemble. I shall instead make brownies. Because that's safer. And given my history of kitchen disasters, that's saying something.