This Can't Be True

Outta Leftfield: Successful desk project employs the tools of ignorance, apathy
Published: Tuesday, January 11, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Originality ahoy! Looks as though we're in for another "things I/men can't do" column, folks.

It is not unusual for me to shy away from projects that require a hammer and a screwdriver.

In fact, the only thing I know — or care to know — about hammers and screwdrivers is that one can easily lose track of a Saturday night by getting hammered on screwdrivers.

There seems to be a pattern to these "I'm dumb" entries... "I can't do [insert common task or skill X]. In fact, the only thing I know about X is [comparison to food, poop, or baseball].

Occasionally though, things need to be assembled in the home (the week after the holidays should be designated Assembly Required Week; surely Hallmark can come up with a card for that), and oftentimes the project requires tools, a minimal amount of knowledge on how to use those tools, and some enthusiasm for taking on a project — none of which I have.

Hallmark bit - not exactly funny, but not bad, either. Rest of paragraph - we get it.

The closest I’ve ever come to putting something together that could have been utilized in the home — a magazine rack — happened several years ago and I had to take three stabs at it to get it almost right. Instead of holding magazines, it held mostly beer bottles, so in that regard, I considered the project almost a success.

This is impossible. Nobody can be this bad at so many things. At the end of his undeservedly long career, I hope Morsch publishes an "I can't write" column. Nice beer reference, too.

But when it comes to these projects, “almost” is good enough for me. Not having to do it at all would be better.

Wait, is he saying he's BAD at projects?

So it was with great ambivalence that I approached last weekend’s project — assembling a new multi-functional computer table (we used to call them desks) that Son of Blonde Accountant had gotten for Christmas. The instruction booklet is 14 pages long. Here are some of the highlights:

Ah, the hallmark of Outta Leftfield: Unoriginal material!

(1) There are 31 separate parts to the multi-functional computer table
(2) There are 13 different types of screws and bolts.
(3) Some of the instructions appeared to be in Spanish, even the parts in English.
(4) There is no mention of a lunch break in the directions.

I liked the Spanish/English part. It actually encorporates something we call "humor" - in this case, a somewhat amusing reversal of our expectations. How did that find its way in here? Is a staffer writing this piece?

For example, here is a sample of the instructions: “Use screws (G) to assemble the fix parts of the sliders (7B) to the right vertical panel (10) and the inside vertical panel (13) considering that the small wheel has to be facing the front of the desk.”

See, I told you it was in Spanish.

I don't see why people find these things so hard. I assembled a desk like this myself, using skills I call "looking" and "reading."

For those of you who are familiar with these types of things, it will be evident that the aforementioned instructions had something to do with a desk drawer.

But just to show you how weak I am in this area, I thought we were assembling a picnic basket — with wheels, of course — and it took me 20 minutes of looking at the instructions and trying to figure out what Spanish words translated into “picnic basket.”

I seriously doubt that this is true. "It's a joke!" you protest. But it's not funny. What next? Will he think a CD is a dinner plate with a hole in the middle?

Fortunately, this was a family project. The Blonde Accountant is the brains of the outfit — the straw that stirs the drink — and Son of Blonde Accountant and I were fortunate to have her serving as project manager. Since it was his desk, Son of Blonde Accountant served as the entire labor force while I attempted to assume the duties of Executive Project Foreman in Charge of Drinks that Need to be Stirred.

Woo-hoo-hooo! We've got a reference to the woman as the "smart" one (how original), and a guffaw-inducing long title.

The Blonde Accountant will tell you, however, that she thinks I know more about these manual projects than I let on, which by golly is the absolute truth if she says so. But I have a long and storied reputation as a card-carrying member of the Federated Office Of Lollygaggers, Evaders and Dawdlers (FOOLED) union and I try to do everything possible to avoid having my pension revoked by breaking a sweat at doing anything.

Wow, ANOTHER long made-up title! Where does he come up with this stuff? This story is making less and less sense - so he's just faking being clueless? Or is he just saying his wife is right even if she's not? What's the point of this?

Surprisingly enough — at least to me — the project went relatively smoothly, despite the fact that the three of us collectively have a limited knowledge of Spanish.

I take back the nice thing I said about the "Spanish/English" joke earlier.

But working together, we managed to assemble the desk in just less than four hours, which is a huge victory when I am involved in a project of this nature. I have no problem whatsoever turning a four-hour project into a four-month project.

So... he IS bad at projects?

The only glitch we encountered was with one of the pre-drilled holes in one of the 31 parts. I leaned on one bolt just a little too much and nearly shot it through the hole and across the room. The resulting collateral damage to that piece of the desk required a bit of Crazy Glue and some tape, and I was more than willing to give the Crazy Glue four months to dry and then resume the project. To no one’s surprise but mine, the project boss said that was an unacceptable amount of time for me to be on a lunch break. Had lunch breaks been covered in the instruction manual, I believe I would have been in the clear on that one, and I will speak to the desk company about a revision of the instructions.

Morsch subscribes to the "more words = more funny" writing philosophy here. I could almost see these events played out in an old-timey silent film. Rag-time music, Morsch looking confused (title card: "I say, is this in Spanish?"), "wha-wha-wha" trombone riff at the end.

Fortunately, I had a much more appealing project to tackle after the desk, which was shoveling the weekend snow off the driveway, which certainly could have waited four months and taken care of itself as far as I was concerned.

I don't know about you, but I would really like another "four months off" joke before we wrap things up. This is probably the tenth shoveling reference in the past few columns, too.

But there is some satisfaction that we completed a family project on the same day it was started. I just hope that doesn’t mean I have to start taking Spanish classes.

And another Spanish reference. Given that the topic of this column was supposed to be "I can't put a desk together," you'd think that more of it would involve the story of trying to assemble the desk. You know, instead of those huge chunks of pointless blather.

We seem to be entering another dry period for Morsch. His blog has been neglected, and the only hints of future stories involve less-than-promising Sellersville concerts. I can only shudder at what the future might have in store...