IKEA can bite me

July 2, 2008

Jonathan Coulton sings a favorable song about IKEA and how great the store, its products and its meatballs are.

I say hogwash.

I’m two hours into building a bed and I’m ready to scrap the whole project and sleep in my car until I’m old enough to move to an assisted living facility.

While the directions make sense and there are plenty of parts, I can see about two billion ways the Norwegians (or whomever made IKEA) could have simplified my life and the process of putting together one queen-size bed.

Yes, it has storage drawers. Yes, it has to be stable. Yes, it’s a platform design.

BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT HAS TO HAVE MORE PARTS THAN THE SPACE SHUTTLE!

There have been about 14 times in my life when I contemplated taking up swearing (no, I don’t swear – gimme a medal, OK?). This makes 15.

I can promise you if I had room on the scooter to take this stupid bed back – and if I could even lift one of the boxes by myself – I’d be buzzing down to the blue and yellow building right now.

As it is, I have no place to sleep right now. The mattress is covered with clothes that will presumably go in the storage drawers of the new bed. The old box spring is up on its side in the foyer. And my pellet gun is loaded as I contemplate shooting out street lights to alleviate my frustration.

I’m not even going to link to Coulton or IKEA or Daisy Guns because I’m so distraught. Suffice it to say I might start drinking in a few minutes…and it’s 10:30PM on a Wednesday.

The only thing that might make me breathe a sigh of relief would be winning PowerBall. But I still don’t think I could pay anyone enough to take this pile of scrap pressed wood and get it out of my sight. And I’m certain nobody with 1/3 of a brain would take on this project.

So I think I’ll take some deep breaths and look at the instruction coloring book and see how much more torture is ahead. Then I’ll open 27 beers, grab my power screwdriver (which is losing power from already installing about 40 billion screws in this behemoth) and get back to work.

If I had a real dog – and not a Facebook dog – I might be tempted to kick it.

More to come…