Due to massive recruiting commitments, and a certain lack of commitment to accommodating said new recruits, there is a bit of a shortage of available rooms at the moment. I had a couple of better options, rooms that were vacant or becoming vacant as crew resigned, got married and moved out, or just never came back from holidays. The day I put my hopeful face on and went to speak to the dear old folk at the accommodation department, however, I was politely (cough) refused. My highly anticipated move to 'Fun Dubai' was not going to happen. My only option for moving was to take the vacant bedroom in my own apartment. Which I did, hello it is much bigger and has an ensuite, saving me from mad towel-clad dashes to my room in the presence of any unfortunate unlucky enough to be around. But Fun Dubai it is not.
I set my alarm for really early (normal people early, not flight attendant early), as I only had one day to do the move. I went downstairs in search of my brand new keys, only to be told that I needed to present a memo from the accommodation department proving that I was privileged and trustworthy enough to be in possession of two sets of apartment keys at the one time. I was clearly not privileged enough, as I had no memo. I stormed off in a huff, taking a taxi through peak hour traffic to go and speak to someone, only to be told I was supposed to have printed out the email they sent me two weeks ago. Which, I might add, made no mention of the fact that my keys would be held to ransom if I failed to print it.
After eventually getting my paws on the keys, I set to work moving all of my things. Being a bit of a natural hoarder, I was sure I would have accumulated epic amounts of crap over the last 8 months which would take me hours on end to sort through. I love to sort - discovering things you forgot you had, it's like owning them again for the first time! Anyway, I rolled up my sleeves and got down to business. Over the next several hours, I was going to make moving my bitch.
An hour later I was done. Turns out I'm not quite the hoarder I thought I was.
So I set my sights on a new challenge. A few months ago, I bought some furniture from Ikea that was desperately needed at the time. And which has sat, flat packed and gathering dust, since then. I was now going to make Ikea my bitch.
I have never in my life built anything beyond Lego, and I was enthusiastic but not confident that I could get the job done. Without a chivalrous male assistant to bend, puff and expose their bum crack over my furniture, I wasn't even sure where to start. But I discovered Ikea's cute cartoon instruction booklets, with the happy allen-key wielding people, and found the strength I needed. If the fat gender-less cartoon without clothes can do it, so can I. One TV unit (way more appropriately used as a shoe rack). Two TV units (I have many shoes). Ikea was officially my bitch. My helpful moving assistant and I agreed we deserved to celebrate... we should go to Ikea!
I loaded up on shiny new things, feeling like doing some redecorating - hey, if I couldn't move to a new apartment, I'd make the old one feel new! Once home, I ran into difficulty. My shiny new coat stand (handbag holder) was on a whole different level - no allen key in sight, this one was all done by screwdriver. Naturally, I do not own a screwdriver. I used one once, to open a picture frame, but that was my Dad's. However, Ikea was my bitch today, and I would not be defeated. I went and spent a whopping 11 Dirham (less than $3) on a set of 6 screwdrivers, came home, and put that pretty little handbag holder together. Moving Day is my bitch. It is also officially over.
So I'm pretty proud of myself. I survived, and managed, and lifted and constructed all day on my own - not entirely on my own, thank you to my stripey-skirted assistant. But next time, will I fret and look wildly around in search of a strong and able man to Ikea me? Not a chance. Burn those bras and get those bum cracks out girls, I did just as good a job! I discovered today that I can put these things together with much less huffing, much less sweating (and therefore less stinky B.O.), nowhere near as much swearing, and without throwing half-built furniture across the room when it becomes clear that Ikea's cartoon people have forgotten a step in the construction instructions. Oh and way less bum crack. But I can work on that for next time.
|My shoes have a home!!|