Max Futcher shares trials and tribulations of assembling IKEA furniture

It may seem like a simple task but far too many of us end up failing - and there is a simple reason why.

It might not be a coincidence that the same country that gave us IKEA, also gave rise to Swedish massage.

I was pondering this as I lay on my back, admiring our new office furniture.

The desk, drawers and bookshelves had arrived as a pile of brown flatpack boxes, and two days later they stood tall and proud, unlike me.

I was on my back. For the next two weeks, it was the only position that wouldn’t give me shooting pains through my lower and middle back.

This was the price I had paid for home-delivered, affordable wooden furniture.

When most people complain about IKEA, it’s usually about the Swedish instructions, or the extraordinary number of screws and wooden lugs. Others detest the allen keys, which can inflict blisters on your fingers. After several bookcases, using these tools can leave your hands like arthritic claws, but I don’t mind. I don’t care about the time it takes to assemble the furniture, even factoring in the extra detours after I’ve made a mistake halfway and must pull it apart and start again.

Max Futcher shares his IKEA flat pack experience.

My complaints come from my poor spine.

Constructing a new home office can take a few hours, crawling around on the carpet like a peculiar solo game of Twister. As a middle-aged man, I don’t get down on the floor and crawl around much these days, so when I do, I find parts that haven’t been stretched in many years.

After bending over for hours, driving in screws, I find my back doesn’t easily revert to upright. In fact, when I try to stand up straight again, it takes enormous effort, and I’m sure I can hear that noise the Transformers make, as each vertebrae clicks back into position.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

The infuriating instruction booklet has a diagram showing two little stick-men are required to assemble this office, but as I am the only stick man in the house, I’ve done it on my own.

I tell myself it’s all worth it, of course, because I’ve saved money by doing it myself. There is a service whereby someone from IKEA will come and build the VIHALS bookcase for me (VIHALS is Swedish for married, apparently), but by persevering, I’ve saved more than $200, and impressed my dear FRU (wife).

IKEA founder Ingvar Kamprad would be proud. The late billionaire founded IKEA at his uncle’s kitchen table in 1943.

Channel 7's Max Futcher on his IKEA flatpack experience. Picture: Tara Croser.

He was 17 years old, and although his wealth grew, he was famously SPARSAM (economical; also an IKEA light bulb). He drove a ’93 Volvo, flew economy class, recycled tea-bags and stole condiment sachets from restaurants.

In his efficiently titled book, A Furniture Dealer’s Testament, he wrote, “We don’t need flashy cars, impressive titles or other status symbols. We rely on our strength and our will.”

With my own strength and will, that $200 assembly fee is better in my pocket than IKEA’s.

So, as I lie in a painful HAUGA (heap; also a stylish cabinet) on the carpet, I’m admiring the combined effort that’s created a new home office: the ingenuity of IKEA, coupled with my sweat and tears. My ribs feel like they don’t quite fit, and my neighbours have learned some new swear words, but I tell myself it was worth it.

“I saved 200 bucks!” I tell my FRU, and my DOTTRAR (daughters) when they bring me some SMARTSTILLANDE (painkillers).

There’s a sense of satisfaction, and in a short while, the mobile massage therapist will arrive to give me a Swedish massage.

He costs $219. I wonder if he’s handy with an allen key.

Originally published as Max Futcher shares trials and tribulations of assembling IKEA furniture