So I kept tripping over this portable floor problem at dance gigs. Churches, gyms, parks – half the time the ground sucked for dancing. Concrete eating my knees, grass making me slip like a cartoon character. Had enough of that crap. Saw some pro solutions online, laughed at the price tag, and decided screw it, I’ll build my own panels.

The Starting Disaster

Went to the lumber yard like a confident idiot. Grabbed 4×8 plywood sheets – felt like lifting dead elephants into my tiny car. Got weird looks from the guy loading it. “You uh… got a truck?” Nah buddy, we’re doing this the stupid way. Folded seats down, shoved plywood through trunk into passenger seat like some janky sword. Dashboard got a new scratch. Perfect.

Tools? Dug through my disaster garage. Found:

• The rusty circular saw coughing sawdust like an old smoker
• Screws from three different mystery projects
• A carpenter square with chewed-up corners (blame the dog)
• A tape measure stickier than duct tape

Measure Once, Cut… A Bunch Actually

Wanted 2×2 foot panels. Easy math, right? Traced lines on first plywood sheet. Saw kicked like a mule halfway through the cut – ended up with a wobbly trapezoid instead of a square. Threw that one in the “oops” pile. Learned fast: clamp that stupid plywood down or suffer. Got better, still ruined two more sheets. Wood chips everywhere. Looked like a beaver exploded in my driveway.

Cutting list finally done:

• Bottom frame pieces: 1.5-inch wide strips (mostly straight!)
• Top deck: my 2×2 plywood squares

Assembly Line Chaos

Drilled pilot holes thinking I was smart. Screws still went sideways like drunk worms half the time. Glued joints for “extra strength” – cue sticky fingers glued to my pants. Stomped on the frames to make them square. Stood on a finished panel – heard a nasty CRACK. Too thin. Added cross-braces underneath like angry spider legs. Now we’re talking. No more cracking.

Sanded tops. Dust cloud. Neighbor yelled “You okay in there?” Coughed out a lung, yelled back “Just dancing!” Sanded edges smooth-ish. Splinters are nature’s toothpicks, but dancers prefer not bleeding.

Connector Disaster Part 1

Bought cheap plastic connectors online. Little buttons that lock panels together. Drilled holes too big on the first panel. Connectors flopped around like loose teeth. Useless. Drilled smaller holes – too small. Had to hammer connectors in. Smashed my thumb once. Yelled at the wood panel. It ignored me.

Tested connecting panels. Lined them up. Slammed foot on the connector. Locked! Jumped on the joint. Held. Then tripped over the connection ridge. Forgot about the bump. Perfectly engineered tripping hazard.

The Finish (Sort Of)

Slapped water-based polyurethane on top. Said “low odor” on the can. Lies. Whole house smelled like chemical fruit for two days. Applied it thin, avoiding drips. Mostly succeeded. Let it cure. Stuck to it once. Peeling sound was sickening. Had to sand the spot and redo. Lesson: Patience is for people without time crunches.

The Grand (Dusty) Finale

Drove my Frankenstein panels to a kids dance workshop in a cold church basement. Cold concrete floor. Unloaded the panels – way lighter than full sheets, but awkward to carry. Snapped them together. Little clicks felt weirdly satisfying. Dancers tapped their feet. No echo. Solid.

Then a connector popped loose when some kid jumped like a maniac. Had to stomp it back down mid-song. Got a thumbs-up from the teacher. “Works better than carpet!”

Packing up? Beat the panels apart with a rubber mallet like a caveman. Sawdust rained down. Wiped them off, loaded up. Trunk latch wouldn’t close right. One panel corner sticking out like a middle finger. Ratchet strap time.

Bottom line: Won’t win beauty contests. Weighs a ton. Storage sucks. Connectors might betray you. But hey, that church basement crew? Didn’t freeze their feet off. And I didn’t bankrupt myself. Calling it a win.