Recently my girlfriend and I purchased a bookcase/desk combo from an unnamed Depot for Office supplies in the hope of outfitting our house with a more official office space. After a lot of research we found our dual-function miracle and made arrangements to bring it home. However, as most of you know, office furniture, much like a baby, can be very labor intensive for owner. Yet, I carried on unfazed, for I have many fond memories of building furniture with my father when I was a kid.
I should clarify, I have fond memories of assembling furniture. To claim that I have built furniture is like the father-to-be claiming “WE are pregnant.” Someone else does all the real work, while he just takes direction (maybe a little verbal and physical abuse) and then acts like a hero. “Look what I made!!”
As a child, my dad and I would set up our “workshop” in the living room and methodically carry out the steps of construction: opening the box, laying out the wood and the hardware, checking off the parts list, gathering the appropriate tools, and then constructing….an organizational wet dream. Excited by the opportunity to both indulge my OCD and relive my childhood memories, I set forth. But soon after the assembly began, all those fond memories flew out the window….along with a slew of cuss words.
Before fully kicking off this diatribe, it’s worth noting that furniture manufacturers have gone to great lengths to simplify the role of the consumer, knowing that each additional step in the assembly process exponentially increases the chances their customer service department receives an angry email with an attached pdf of a hospital bill. Additionally, they have developed elegantly simple locking devices that eliminate the need for quantities of nails and duct tape that by my estimate would fall in the range of a 50-lb box and a Costco multi-pack, respectively. Just follow the easy to read instructions and in a few hours your new home office desk/credenza combo, or what have you, is fully operational.
However, as I found out, they continue to underestimate the ineptitude of their end users and overestimate their strength. This lies in direct opposition to the product listing on the website which quite literally stated, “easy assembly required.” In retrospect it should have read, “easy assembly, required you weigh 200+ lbs, bench 450 lbs, and have a grip like Lincoln Hawk.”
Perhaps some of the blame lies on me. Maybe I could have been a little better prepared. I’m sure I’ll be docked a handful of “man points” for admitting that my girlfriend actually owns more tools than I do. Even then, we combine for one Phillips head screwdriver, one wonky socket-like screwdriver-thingy, and a Leatherman. Fu-uck.
Despite my ragtag toolbox, I dove in head first, brimming with chutzpah. Shortly after though, my poise suffered a series of costly blows. No less than 14 times per instruction, I would toggle back and forth between angrily staring at the manual and dejectedly looking at the mess I was making. I found myself chastising a host of 1/16” pilot holes, all eagerly awaiting ¼” flat-tipped screw/bolt piece thingies. (By my vocabulary I’m sure you’re gathering sufficient information regarding my “handy man” status.) Realizing there was no way around these integral pieces, I channeled Bob Vila. Having consulted my spirit guide I equipped myself with an oven mitt, the dish towel (for padding purposes), my Leatherman and a heaping helping of impudence.
I squatted directly over each bolt/screw like a Yokozuna Bonzai Drop, and let out a terrifying yawp as I achieved an entire quarter turn. “Fuck Yeah!” or “Fuck You!” echoed throughout the house. This carried on for about two hours, until every last bolt/screw was fully “seated” and the entire dictionary of expletives had been exhausted. Sweating and irate, I consulted the manual. “Once all screws are in place, proceed to Step 2.”
STEP 2?! JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH!!
Fortunately the remaining 23 steps (and inevitable missteps) required only moderate superhuman strength and limited use of the oven mitt/dish towel combo. Finally, after 6 ½ hours, I had thumbed through all 30 pages of instructions and before me stood a glorious piece of woodwork that could have easily earn a B- in 6th grade shop.
“Gaps? What gaps? Oh, those…I think they look nice. Gives it a modern look, don’t you think.”
A full two weeks later and the bookcase/desk is still standing triumphantly in the guest bedroom. Meanwhile, I remain proud but crippled, suffering from overuse of previously undiscovered muscle groups in my back and groin. The good news is my vision has come back and the brain hemorrhaging has subsided. I’m also comforted by the fact that in the event of a nuclear blast, the cockroaches will have a nice bookcase to post up in.
So the next time you are looking to make a new addition to the family (room), bring plenty of patience, some elbow grease, and don’t forget to fill in the gaps in your toolbox. Also, make sure you have plenty of dish towels on hand and a fully functional subscription to Life Alert ®.
HAPPY BUILDING ASSEMBLING!!
