IKEA Survival Guide

With our move complete and new home practically empty, my wife and I ventured off to IKEA in search of some deals on well-formed particle board.

I’m not really a big fan of furniture shopping but IKEA’s Swedish meatballs keep pulling me back in. Not just because they’re super tasty, but because their meatballs are among the few items they sell that I don’t have to assemble myself.

That’s the part I hate about IKEA…the assembly. I love the affordability and I love the style, but I hate having to put their stuff together. I just feel like a complete idiot even though they provide what should be “no brainer” illustrated instructions.

Because IKEA sells its disposable furniture worldwide, the engineers thought it proper to use drawings instead of written instructions to help consumers handle assembly…which can take days if you misinterpret their drawings and assemble things backwards like I do.

Judging by the names they give their merchandise, I actually welcome pictures over text. It’s hard enough to describe over the phone which part of your new Floggendoofen broke during assembly, but to read how to assemble it? I can only imagine.

“Slide the Flurgan into the Shnurgan until the Durgan snaps into place.”

Who comes up with these names? Are they real words? The only vision that comes to mind when I hear their product names is…

Personally, I think the engineers at IKEA are geniuses. They can package a sectional couch so that it fits into a shoebox and they actually come up with some pretty trendy styles.

I just wish I didn’t feel like an underevolved neanderthal trying to make sense of their instructions, stacks of wood, and a baggie of irreplaceable never-before-seen hardware.

When I first saw the box that housed our new Borkenshneegan (or some other such name) I was confident that I was overqualified to put this furniture together.

Seriously, check this out.

Is this a problem in Sweden? Do people traditionally open boxes with combat knives? How many people called customer service to say they damaged their furniture with an instrument of war before IKEA felt compelled to stamp this warning on the box?

I got to thinking. Are they telling you not to open their boxes with serrated blades or are they telling you to remove all weapons from the household because IKEA furniture assembly has been known to trigger a violent rage? Either way, this box was a keeper.

When I first saw this illustration I got the impression that IKEA was just making sure that they could cater to the lowest common denominator in intelligence. I figured I was only a few snaps away from having a living room.

Nope!

These instructions are proof that IKEA is Sweden’s way of subliminally communicating to America that we’re idiots. I felt like Billy Bob Thornton from Slingblade working with these illustrations.

“First I reckon I’ll open the box with a kaiser blade. Some folks call it a slingblade, I call it a kaiser blade.”

For those unfamiliar with the IKEA experience, allow me to take you through a 10-Step IKEA Survival Guide and provide some pointers along the way.

Step 1: Drive or fly to the nearest IKEA if you’re fortunate to have one in your time zone. There are currently only 20 states with an IKEA because the other 30 simply don’t have room. Cities would have to be razed and populations displaced to accommodate and there may some ordinances preventing IKEA tent cities. Not because the government is against refugees, but because no one in the government is qualified to assemble IKEA merchandise.

Step 2: After you meander your way like cattle through four square miles of furniture, you’ll end up in a giant self-serve warehouse filled with boxes that are heavy enough to crush you. Note that there are hazard bags and spatulas at the end of each aisle that can scoop up squished family members. IKEA also offers bereavement discounts on their Flarggencoffins.

Step 3: When you find something you like, strap on a weight belt so that you don’t give yourself a hernia, and lift the box onto a cart with four ultra-greased wheels that make steering an impossibility. Crash and bump into people and property as you make your way to checkout.

Step 4: Pay for your items and continue on out to the loading dock. Watch with amusement as people try to stuff oversized boxes into hatchbacks or tie them to roofs with twine. Ear plugs are advised for the occasional KABOOM of tires exploding under the weight. Don’t be offended when people snicker as you load your vehicle. You’re all in the same boat. While security personnel and IKEA executives will laugh until their bladders empty, they can’t be heard behind the hidden cameras.

Step 5: Drag your new piece of furniture into the house and open the box with something other than a combat knife (as per their instructions).

Step 6: Set aside the wooden planks that will soon become your living room and wear a big smile. You’re going to need it. Don’t worry about the pang of buyer’s remorse when you see the chaos before you. The slabs of particle board will look good when you’re finished!

Step 7: Detach the baggie filled with finger-abusing tools and alien-like hardware. Guard these strange objects with your life because few can be replaced without a flight back to IKEA. It is advised that you tether children to the banister or lock them in a closet. Their mere presence will cause vital hardware to disappear.

Step 8: Drink heavily as you look over the instructions.

Step 9: If you think it’ll be an easy assembly, repeat Step 8.

Step 10: Get your furniture to look as close to the showroom model as possible. It won’t be perfect but if you tell your guests it’s from IKEA, they’ll understand and console you. Show them your fingertips for additional sympathy.

There you go! The IKEA Survival Guide. Overall, we love IKEA and much of our home is furnished with it. It’s actually quite liberating to not care so much when children ruin your possessions. It looks nice, it’s inexpensive, and it’s surprisingly durable.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to open some more IKEA boxes.