Going nuts!

 We bought some safari chairs to sit on for a bit of comfort around the plastic patio table. A safari chair is a lot like a director’s chair – in fact, it would be the chair a director takes on safari. But the point is, we arrived home with the two chairs nicely packaged in a couple of flat(ish) packs. I opened them to find instructions, a few wingnuts and the fabric for the seats loose in the ever-present clear plastic bag. I felt cheated. The words weren’t there on the box. You know those words, the catchphrase words that symbolised the get-the-furniture-home-quickly-in-as-many-pieces-as-it-takes 21^st century: ‘Some assembly required’.

 You probably think this should be no problem. Well, yes. But you only do it yourself in materials that you can work with. The thing about the chipboard-based modern furniture is that if you do try and work with it using ordinary tools, you tend to be left with a pile of wood chips and bent laminate.

 They pre-drill their furniture in the factory because they know how to do it, and they aint telling us. So it’s not do-it-yourself. Somebody else has already done it. It’s doing what somebody else has already done. Self re-assembly. There’s no challenge, unless you strike it lucky and get something from one of the new Asian boom economies, where everything is lost in the translation. When you don’t have ABC in your alphabet and the person translating is a backpacker trying to earn enough for his plane fare home, step-by-step instructions become one step forward, three steps back and two to the side. That’s when self-assembly furniture is fun!

 I blame the Europeans. They made self-assembly compulsory for their furniture. They couldn’t have done it without that bloke Allen. You know, then inventor of the Allen key. And just to turn the last chipboard screw with the plastic dome insert in the coffin of ready-made furniture, they came up with cute names for cupboards, wardrobes and even bookcases. ‘Have you met Bjorn? That’s him with the books. Next to Vince, the magazine rack!’

 Now don’t get me wrong. They make good products, and at affordable prices. I’ll rephrase that, you make their good products. Any book looks good in a Bjorn. It’s just that it seems wherever you shop now, instead of the old six-to-eight-week wait, you buy the furniture, put it in the car and, provided all the parts are there, assemble it by dinner-time. Fair enough in the case of something bulky. But safari chairs? Surely something which folds up to stack away can be put in a box in on piece?

 Machines can do everything except actually put the stuff together. So the furniture manufacturers include us in their workforce. You, brothers and sisters, are unpaid labour for giant multinational sofa-bed and side-table conglomerates. People on the other side of the world are growing rich on the fruits of your labour. As I look around my bedroom, I realise that I assembled the small desk this computer sits on, the television cabinet on wheels, and even had to put the back on the chair I’m sitting in. How does anybody ever get any work done when we’re spending all our time doing it for furniture companies?

 Won’t be long before computer companies cotton and we’re putting in motherboards and hard disks ourselves. With Allen keys. It’s the thin edge of the wedge. We’ve got to put a stop to it now or nothing will come to you as a finished item.

 This blog comes to you via Ralph, an IBM 386SX clone. Some assembly required. Here’s the last sentence. Nreightdfjspo ioinre??/ !! ---,... 4. Please follow the instructions on page 865 carefully.