At lunch my friend Eric told me he bought a TV console on-line for a fraction of what he would have paid at a local furniture store. He showed me a picture of a handsome credenza with a beautiful maple finish. “It was cheaper than you’d pay for a TV tray at Target,” he gloated, “and I had it assembled in less than an hour.”
I nodded politely; I was interested but I have an iron-clad rule that I don’t assemble furniture. I am still traumatized by the time that I spent almost 6 weeks trying to assemble a 3-foot tall bookcase before I got so frustrated that I shoved it back into its packing box and returned it to Sears.
But after lunch I kept thinking about Eric’s credenza so against my better judgement I went home and checked out the website he recommended; there I found a coffee table similar to one I had seen at Macy’s, but for way less money and with free shipping. Ignoring the fine print that said, “Some assembly required” I made an instant decision and thanks to one-click ordering, my new coffee table was on my doorstep by the weekend.
Feeling optimistic, I opened the box so that, as instructed, I could inventory the parts. There were a whole lot more than I expected: they were listed numerically from 1 to 977, including an intimidating assortment of screws, nuts, and bolts. My optimism began to wane.
Things got off to a bad start when I could not find Part 325, the vital “Center Brace,” Concerned, I started to read the instructions which were clearly written by someone whose mastery of the English language was, at best, minimal. That’s when I discovered that I had four “Right front legs” and four “Left front feets.”
“ATTEND!” I read, “please to attach bolt 45 concurrently with bolt 68 and insert with carefulness into Slot A.” I could not figure out how to attach two bolts concurrently but as it turned out it did not matter because not only was there no Slot A, but Slot A was never mentioned again.
“While standing vertically on your back,” the instructions continued, “use Alan Wrench 4 to connect Part 759 to it.”
I began to mutter. “To connect Part 759 to what?” I asked.
“Then, using vigor, toggle each bolt until done,” I read, “and continue until subsequent.”
I toggled vigorously for almost an hour but I never reached “subsequent.” Exhausted, I decided to continue reading.
“Select a compliant hex nut,” I read, “ and introduce it to an appropriate flange.”
I selected a fine-looking hex nut and a fetching flange; I could not help myself: “Hex nut,” I said politely, “this is Flange.” After the introductions things headed south: I was instructed to “Couple legs with matching feets and then brace! See diagram C3.” I looked at Diagram C3 and my stomach flipped; it looked like the schematics for the Stealth Bomber.
The instructions knew I was feeling low. “Good job!” I read “Almost are you done!” I looked at my “table”: I had a left foot attached to a right leg that had bolts sticking out like a porcupine. Clearly almost was I not done.
In the end I gave up. I looked at the picture on the box and assembled the table as best I could, pointedly ignoring the dozens of parts that were left over, and soon my coffee table was assembled and standing proudly in front of the sofa. It was a little wobbly but I figured no one would notice.
Feeling satisfied I went into the kitchen for a Diet Coke and then sat down on the sofa to survey my handiwork. “Pretty sturdy,” I said out loud and, optimistically, I put my feet up on the table. Just moments later I was shoving 977 separate pieces back into the packing box.