Last week on Twitter, I ran a poll. Was it worth going to Ikea on a Saturday? The masses were quite decided – ‘Don’t do it!’ they said. ‘Save your sanity!’ But as is usually the case, impatience and the ‘I want it now’ philosophy took over and I suited up to take on the masses. I dressed for comfort and warmth, and given I was going at it alone, for safety. The hot pink coat would serve me well should I get lost in the four walls (four? Four million?) of Ikea and also served to say, ‘I’m a girl, and I can do this alone!’.

The car park was the first hurdle (have you ever been there??) but I finally managed to locate a spot. Under a stairwell and on a ramp. Perhaps it wasn’t a spot but my car fit and with the 6 billion other people taking on Ikea in their Toorak tractors and family wagons, I figured this one had my name on it.

My entire purpose to go to Ikea was to purchase two bookshelves that I have had my eye on for close to a year. When I moved into my city apartment, I proclaimed that the next time my brothers or father visited, we would trek to Ikea to procure these bookshelves I had been eyeing off for so long. Twelve months later and still no visit – it was time to take matters into my own hands.

I entered the golden labyrinth, optimistic and hopeful. If you are unfamiliar with Ikea, think of a hedged maze, and then hang pots and assorted storage containers and furniture catalogues off all the branches. People were everywhere. Children, specifically, were everywhere. I closed my eyes and made my way through the maze, following the handy arrows on the floor (for those of us who just want to get OUT) and twenty minutes later, I found myself in the self service furniture area. Bunnings on steroids. Flat packed furniture as far as the eye could see, both in distance and height.

I managed to locate my bookshelves – Expedit – and a trolley. I watched couples working together to get their boxes off the shelves. I stood and took in the size and weight of my boxes, and paused momentarily to ponder ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ Then I went ahead and did it anyway.

Getting the boxes onto the trolley wasn’t so hard, more a matter of sliding and dragging than any kind of lifting and within a few minutes I was done. Proceeding to the exit, I even used the self service checkout (who needs boys OR staff anymore?) and was quietly chuffed when I went through the double doors to the outside world and realised I had survived my Ikea experience. But the fun part was yet to come.

I left my boxes with the Ikea valet (note, this is not his name or title, I have dubbed him this because you leave your trolley with him while YOU retrieve your car), headed back to my ramped stairwell park then navigated 4 floors of carpark to find the Ikea loading dock. Removing the contents of my boot (Where did that box of books come from? Leftover from moving?? Oops….) and folding down the back seats, I encountered my first ‘can I really do this?’ problem. The seat wouldn’t fold. No matter how I shook it, bashed it, gave it a stern talking too or just plain went at it hell for leather. I caved and called Dad. Yes, I give up easily. No sooner had I dialled than I worked out the problem – stupid locking mechanism!!

Seats down, it was time for actual heavy lifting. If you will, remember I have a desk job and the heaviest things I lift day to day are platform knee high boots. Straining most of my muscles (do you still call them that if you don’t have any?) I huffed and puffed the first box into the boot. This then hung over a good foot out the end of the car. Fuck.

My first thought was, ‘what the hell am I going to do with the second bookshelf?’, followed by, ‘how the hell am I going to get this out at home?’. By now I was warm, the pink jacket was off and I was getting about the Ikea customer pick up area in a babydoll dress and knee high boots. Not once did someone ask if I needed help.

Now you may all think that having all those Coles bags in the boot of your car that you ALWAYS forget to take into Coles are worthless. I’m here to tell you, they aren’t. They are in fact, quite handy when you find yourself at Ikea without a rope. Simply hook the handles through the hook at the top of the boot, pull tight and use the weigh of the object you are moving to anchor the end of the bag. Ta-Da! I’m like a female MacGyver. Truly.

This still left me with problem number two. What to do with the second bookshelf? Returning inside, I discovered delivery was going to be $30 (damned if I was paying that) so I returned it. No questions asked. Although the guy returning it could probably tell the girl in the babydoll dress with knee high boots and a hot pink coat wasn’t up to the challenge of two bookshelves and didn’t need to ask…

Home, seemingly hours later at about 40km/h so I didn’t dent the shelves with the boot bounce, and the epic struggle began to get the box to my front door, all of 25 metres from the car. I have never been so grateful to live on the ground floor. After this it was easy. Individual pieces of a bookshelf are not heavy, I’m a girl and can therefore read instructions – assembly was a breeze. Seems I am unstoppable with an Allen Key and a bit of old fashioned elbow grease.

Of course this wasn’t enough for me and I spent the remainder of the afternoon rearranging all the rest of the furniture in the living room to suit the new bookcase. Perhaps the responses on Twitter were right. My sanity has remained intact but I am finding muscles I didn’t know I had (and I know they are there now because they hurt) and in rearranging the living room I now find I want to return to Ikea for picture frames and throw rugs….

Have some fun of your own at http://www.ikea.com/au/en/