Disassemble? No disassemble!

Dear World Market,

 

As a single girl, I have put together a lot of flat-pack furniture in my day.  I am no longer fazed by the words “assembly required”…nay, I am thrilled by them because it means I can buy furniture that fits in my car, and enjoy the satisfaction of putting it together when I get home.

 

When I got my prized purchase home this evening, my first sign of trouble should have been the box.  The only easy way to open it is at the end.  The first rule of Flat Pack is…you don’t talk about Flat Pack.  But the SECOND rule of Flat Pack is that the box opens at the top, so that you lift that gorgeous big flap and find the directions at the top of the stack, nestled comfortably in among your flat parts and looking like they are quivering in anticipation of seeing daylight for the very first time inside your apartment.  They should NOT be found at the bottom of the box, after you have carefully extracted every other piece via the small end.

 

Little did I know, my ordeal was only beginning.

 

I don’t know what the official language of World Market is.  Perhaps in your language, “assembly required” actually means “apprenticeship in cabinetry required and ownership of power tools may be for the best.”  But this was the single-most difficult flat-pack I have EVER assembled.

 

While I do appreciate the fact that this assembly was done with a screwdriver instead of the ubiquitous hex keys that Ikea holds so dear, and that you actually include some extra hardware just in case, I do have a few bones to pick with you.  First of all, your pilot holes are not all in the correct places.  You have no idea how disorienting that is when you have counted your pieces and counted your hardware, but neglected to count your holes.  Second, why do you call it part A when it is the last one to be installed?  Third, why, DEAR GOD, WHY? do you force me to install my own hinges?  I will gladly pay the sweatshop-dwelling orphans an extra 5 bucks if it means my pilot holes will be properly located and I don’t have to install hinges.  Their tiny hands will probably do a better job of it than mine anyway.  At this point, I would have been happier had you just packed up a bunch of boards and assorted power tools and let me go to town.  DAMN YOU, YOU FAIR-TRADING SONS OF BITCHES!

 

Perhaps this is karmic retribution for opening a bottle of wine and watching Celebrity Rehab before assembling my bar.  But seriously, should it have taken THREE HOURS to build this???

 

 

Yeah, I didn’t think so either.