Amy Crow
Designer / Illustrator / Maker

Blog

Hi, I'd Like An Exchange, Thanks.

The other day I was so riled up I repainted my room, Life Lined four bags of clothes and bought a new shelf. I was hot, sweaty and determined. Damnit, I was on fire. 

As the dust settled around me, I was assembling what was going be a total space saver. It had started to bucket down outside and there was an oddly Frankenstein-esque feel to the night. I had read the instructions, I had pulled out all the screws and keys and I'd laid it out systematically like Hannibal lays out his latest victim for feasting. As the shelf was coming together, it was feeling a little off keel. I just thought, hey, maybe that's because it's not 100% done yet and it needs the back brace to be stable. I stood it upright and it looked like it needed a hug and three sessions at a reputable chiropractor. I started to screw in the back brace. I got to the last screw and realised, there's no goddamn hole to screw it in to. 

My first thought: fuck, I've done something seriously wrong here.
My quick realisation: it's actually broken. They've drilled the hole on the wrong leg and I can't just switch it around because it's welded together at the top. (if you imagine a ladder situation, two "A" style legs, shelves connecting them together, I thought about taking a photo but I was highly embarrassed at the time)

Lucky there was thunder around because I swore so loud I could have deafened the two year old next door not only with shear volume but extreme profanity. I thought I had left a lot of aggression in my teen years but nope, there it was, ugly as ever, standing over me like a puppet master.

I honestly couldn't be bothered taking it apart, so I put it in my car in all it's lopsided mockery and took it back to Kmart. In the car park I realised I maybe should have dismantled it because after balancing it on a trolley and wheeling it some 20meters into the shopping centre, I must have looked like the most basic bitch. The lady at the counter was not impressed. That made two of us.

It's been an emotionally draining and trying week and it's only fucking Wednesday.
So, is this just a broken shelf or is it really a metaphor for life? The thing that struck me on the way through the car park, stressed out that maybe this 2 meter long fake industrial situation was going to fall off the trolley, simultaneously snapping my wrist and making me look like a right fool who can't effectively use an alan key, was that this was not my fault. This shelf was broken before I picked it off the rack. Nothing that I could do would fix this shelf in its current state. Synapses flickered in my brain and I suddenly went from feeling frustrated and discouraged to calm and accepting, fuck this shelf, man and I got an exchange.

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