I blame IKEA.  I hope that whatever Swedish person is in charge of this company has a very very guilty conscience.  And it’s not just because of their meatballs.

Nope.  It used to be that you purchased a piece of furniture, and two burly guys named Hank (yes, both are named Hank; it’s a union thing) showed up at your doorstep. They had furniture pads, not plastic wrap. Sometimes shipping boxes.  But the point is that the Hanks would haul whatever it was you had up whatever stairs you had to whatever hard-to-reach room you were putting this very, Very VERY heavy piece of furniture in. And they never ever had to assemble a single thing, because their union would go on strike first in justifiable protest of dangerous work conditions.

Why do I know this?  Because long ago my friend Scott and I were furniture movers at large and in trouble (or so our motto goes; in fact, we were 2 stockboys at the May Company that had to haul stuff around the store). If something was heavy – just get the Hanks involved.  Heck back then it might’ve been Tom and Rita; like us they were young and foolish in the early 80’s.

But along came IKEA, who convinced us that if we shipped boxes to our houses, hauled those up the stairs without the Hanks and assembled it we could save $16.50 and order both Pizza and Beer. And doncha know – every other retailer followed suit.   The only difference is that it is still a savings of $16.50, and that won’t buy either pizza or beer, or even IKEA meatballs.

And so it goes with Target. As background, 20 years ago we bought a desk for our then-little girl.  The Hanks brought it over, hauled it upstairs to her room in the farthest back corner, and there it has sat since. It’s a very nice set.

Of course, that won’t sit with my wife. Or my daughter who apparently can’t sit. Now that my little girl is home for a spell my wife insisted that we purchase a new desk for her. Some complaint that my daughter can’t actually fit her legs under a small child’s desk, as if that is somehow a problem. But since IKEA put all real furniture stores out of business, she’s purchased a suitable looking desk from Target.  A large, flat, very heavy box was leaning up against our house.

With no Hanks around, I had to drag the thing into the garage; I am no longer the young furniture mover I used to be. Hank, my kid, helped me put it on sawhorses and we started to assemble the thing.

Rule 1:  You must keep all the cardboard boxes and Styrofoam packing peanuts in pristine condition, in the event that you’re missing parts, or it is damaged.  Under federal law, if you don’t have the boxes and the unit is damaged and needs to be returned, then you somehow are responsible for having broken it.  ONLY if you have the boxes, and can put it all back EXACTLY as you received it, did it not become your fault, in which case you can take the perfectly packed box in your car (where it doesn’t fit) to a local UPS Store (which is currently closed), and PAY THEM (of course) to return it to the Hank at Target who puts on 2 pieces of tape and ships it to the next customer, while charging you for restocking.

So, with 2 ivy-league master’s between us, and a copious amount of beer and cider, my daughter and I spent the better part of an afternoon going back and forth, squinting at diagrams, putting “cams and cam screws” in holes, dowels in other holes, screws in yet other holes. But we did it. I do not know how, but We Did It.

Except, only sort-of.  Because after 25 of 26 steps, the desk is assembled, the drawers are inserted, and we’ve dragged it into the corner with great effort and a couple of stubbed toes. Which gets us to Rule #2:

Rule2:  You will always have a bag of left-over parts, or some piece that looks important, but that you have no idea what to do with.  This will always happen after you’ve completely assembled everything (or think that you have).

Yep, we had 1 leftover “Hidden Cam”, a cross brace named “H” (mind you, we’ve already installed parts with the letter “J”) and a bag with a large number of small parts after our 25 steps were complete.

Apparently, in step 24, you are supposed to install “Brace H” across the front of the desk with some sort of screws that we never found.  If we had installed Brace H, then my daughter’s legs would not have fit under the desk, and we would have to dissemble the thing, repack it and send it back to Target so that they could collect their restocking fee.

Nope.  Like the Jordan Peele movie, we ain’t doin’ that.  She’ll just have to use it as-is.  Which means this:  Someday she’ll use the desk, place something useful such as a book or a laptop or a single piece of paper on it; It will collapse under the weight of any of these items, trapping my little girl until a couple of German Shepards (named Hank) extricate her from the rubble using the jaws of life. My wife will scream, the police will arrest me for child endangerment (even though she’s 23 right now), and Target will not be held liable because we didn’t install Brace H as clearly shown in the diagrams provided.

The story doesn’t exactly end here. Like most movies, there is a sequel.

I’ve vowed that it would be easier to make my own furniture, hire the “Hanks” to get it upstairs, and never, never, ever have another hidden cam. (But maybe a future blog post). For example, I’ve spent the last 2 months (speed is not my skill set) making a couple of outdoor tables.

I blame This Old House, and (sorry about this, you are my hero) Norm Abram. Over the decades (really) I’ve watched Norm, Tommy, Richard, Roger, Kevin and all the others build so many things, and convince me that I could somehow do the same. Norm would have built these simple little tables in 2 hours, blindfolded, with one arm tied behind his back, and, worst of all, they would be perfect.  Me… not so much. Norm, forgive me, for I have shimmed.

Undeterred, I proceed. But to do this, I need a workbench. After we finished assembling the desk on sawhorses, it was time to get a real bench.  I went down to my local store (WoodCraft) and saw a wonderful Kreg “adaptive cutting bench” that was perfect.  It is large, it is at a height that will save my back, it folds up and rolls away, it is…. EXPENSIVE.

And there’s the problem … My woodworking projects turn out like, well, WoodCrapht. I don’t deserve nice tools.  Norm and Tommy deserve nice tools made by Uncle Festool of the Addams Family (he needed a job after the show was cancelled). I deserve Nick’s Discount Saws (Motto – that missing finger is “only a Nick”). 

Hank, the Woodcraft guy, takes one look at me decides to take pity on my soul. He says that they have a tabletop in the back that “fell off the truck” (really – this is the ONE time in human history that this is a true statement) and has a “small defect”. Given that my projects have Large Defects, taking on a table with a small defect is not exactly a problem.  So, he cut me a break on the tabletop that was too good to pass up.  I called my wife for permission (really!) and bought it.

Here’s the catch.  The Tabletop was discounted.  I had to buy the Table Legs separately, which is fine, but it means one thing – Some Assembly Required.

Yep, back to Step 1.

So, the Hanks load it in my car, I drag it home, I set up my sawhorses – in other words, just like the Target desk, here we go again.

The difference?  Well, Kreg makes high performance precision tools, so this should be easier, right?  Again, like Mr. Peele’s movie… Nope.

In this case, they have “U-Bolts”.  I was pretty sure that, 100 years ago, German U-Bolts were sinking ships causing a war in Europe and creating supply shortages, that the Flu Pandemic was wreaking havoc killing millions, and that everyone was wearing masks hoping that the disease would vanish from the Earth.  So, pretty much like today, but without Zoom Meetings. I think they got the better end of the deal.

Unlike Target, they also supplied the “Offset Wrench” to tighten the many nuts that are required to attach the legs to the top (Myself being one of those nuts). As a precision company, these should work well, yes?

As Richard Trethewey would say, Kreg can “3 point bite” me (we’ll leave it to you to find and understand the reference).  The only thing I wrenched was my back.  As you might imagine, the screws were much longer than needed to secure the piece – it was a long afternoon.  Beer was required.

Once assembled, I asked my daughter to help me get it to the floor.  She would grab the bottom end with the wheels, we would stand it up and there would be cheers. 

Except for one thing:  Once we stood it up, it almost table-toppled on top of my daughter.

We propped it back up on the sawhorses, squinted at the diagrams, squinted again, and I figured out the problem. Which brings us to the 3^rd rule of furniture construction:

Rule 3:  Whatever you did wrong, it was in Step 1.

Yep, in Step 1 the “kickstand” was supposed to face out rather than in. The diagram had the kickstand behind the table, so you would not know that until later. But what I am sure of is that I had to dissemble part of the unit, reverse the kickstand, and reassemble and retighten all the nuts on their U-Bolts.  By the time I was done, I had a locknut allergy.

Alcoholics Anonymous has 12 steps to stop drinking; Target has 26 steps that makes you start drinking. It is the circle of life.

When I was done with Kreg, I went to lunch with some friends of mine not named Craig or Hank. We had beer.

That’s Step 1.