So You Think You Can Disassemble a Bed

Good news: I moved into my new house

Bad news: I moved into the wrong room.


A week ago, I moved into my new house in Virginia. My family and I packed up the Ford truck, and we set out to the city. We arrived, and we began unloading the truck. Then my brother asked, "Which room are you moving into?"

I took a lucky guess, and I pointed, "That one." Boy, was I wrong.

Move-in day was a complete breeze for me as I watched my dad and brother tote my belongings in the house and assemble my bed. Fun fact: my dad is a handyman. I never had to worry about building or fixing anything. Soon they were packing up the toolbox and driving away. There I stood on my porch, waving goodbye. This was the beginning of my journey. In my mind, I said, "Look out world, I'm adulting."

Now back to the bed. It didn't take me long to realize that I moved into the wrong room. I had three options.

  1. Ask my friends for help

  2. Ask my dad to drive 4 hours to help me

  3. Do it myself

Now you could probably imagine my first instinct was to call up my girlfriends and beg for help, which is precisely what I did. But unfortunately, no one was available. 

I had a sudden urge to call my dad. I knew he would be able to take apart this bed with ease. I knew he would show up because he always showed up. But maybe this was something that I needed to do on my own. Within the next 30 minutes, I weighed out all of my options, and I decided to disassemble my bed. 

I grabbed my doc martens, crochet navy blue purse, sky blue mask, and headed for the door. I hopped on the ART bus and headed to Home Depot to buy some tools.

The sweat dripped from my face before I walked through the automatic doors at Home Depot. The AC unit was impeccable. As I scanned the foreign aisles looking for the tool section, I couldn't remember the last time I had been in one of these stores. With the guidance of the orange hue decorated signs, I set out on my mission. 

Lumber, drywall, fencing, tools.

I walked up to a stout man and asked, "What kind of tools do you think I would need to take apart a bed?"

He looked up at me with confusion in his forehead. 

He replied, "Do you have any pictures of the bed?"

Of course, I didn't.

He then pointed me into the direction of a small toolset. I was officially in business.

It was me against the bed. I took the mattress off the bed, and the bed frame followed. I grabbed my screwdriver, and I got to work. I got frustrated several times because I was making the bolts tighter and not looser. When I realized I took a break because I was baffled by my ignorance. I refused to give up. 

Then I started to get the hang of it. The bolts started to loosen, and the bed slowly started coming apart.

Turn by Turn.

Screw by screw.


I had a record-breaking time of an hour and thirty minutes. I could hear the crowd roaring in my ears and cheering me on- up until I unscrewed the last screw.

When I finished, I had the goofiest smile on my face because I couldn't believe it. I did something that I never thought I could do on my own. I didn't need my daddy for small trivial tasks anymore. I imagined how a child feels when they ride a bike without their parents' support.  


I told my dad about my latest chronicles.

"I disassembled my bed."

He responded, "I'm proud of you."