The wardrobe of doom


“Trucker” (or is it “Cargo Vanner”) Caitlyn takes the wheel. She’s happy now, but she’ll be pissed later.

Our garage is starting to resemble a second-hand furniture store.

The past couple weeks have meant less blogging and more scouring for pieces to adorn our soon-to-be Frankfort summer home. A dining table was the first piece to take up real estate in our garage, and there’s now a night stand and queen bed frame, but it was the mammoth Ikea wardrobe that will always have the most meaning to us.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision (read: Should have consulted wife first), I reserved a U-Haul cargo van online and then biked from work to the U-Haul store to pick up my new set of wheels. I figured the cargo van would be big enough to pick up the wardrobe that evening in a nearby neighborhood — as you’ll see, boy, was I wrong. First, for anyone interested in renting a U-Haul cargo van, know that it’s not really $19.99 like it says on the side of the van. Sure, the base price is that, but once you add taxes, fess and 59 cents a mile, that price easily ballooned to $36. God only knows how expensive it would have been had we been traveling more than just a couple miles!

$19.95, my ass ...

$19.95, my ass …

With the key to the van, I put my bike in the back and felt pretty boss when I sat in the driver’s seat. I felt like a trucker and, likewise, felt like I needed a poofy trucker hat that said “John Deere” or “I like big jugs” or something, except I was in a cargo van and I don’t think they make poofy hats for that. After managing to only hit a couple of curbs on the way home, I parked the beast outside the front of our house.

Later, we headed out — with Caitlyn this time at the wheel — to pick up our wardrobe. After some careful shimmying out the front door, Caitlyn, myself and the homeowner were able to get the wardrobe out to the van. Channeling our inner-college student, we all worked together to hoist it up and into the van, except there was one problem. It wouldn’t fit.

We tried tilting it. But it wouldn’t fit.

We tried disassembling the overhanging top. It wouldn’t fit.

So much work, just for this...

So much work, just for this…

After spending roughly an hour disassembling half of it, we tried again to tilt it in. This time, when the edge still wouldn’t go in, we said “screw it,” and forced it in, causing a little damage to the wardrobe, and bungee corded the doors shut. What? We’re not going for classy here, it’s a summer cottage. Plus, we got the wardrobe for less than 20 percent of its new price. As we finally made the return trip home, I looked frantically to the back every 10 seconds or whenever we hit a pothole just to make sure our hackneyed bungee job didn’t release an explosion of pine into the cars behind us. Thankfully, we got it home and it still looks mostly nice.

The moral of the story? Do a good job paying attention to the furniture’s and van’s dimensions before renting said van.

Thankfully, this will be the biggest thing we have to get until it comes time to grab the mattresses, but we’ll have a U-Haul moving truck at that time. And I’ll make sure to check the dimensions next time …


One Comment on “The wardrobe of doom

  1. Pingback: The Ikea Couch and the Beep of Doom | The Rover and the Recluse

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