KillerMuffin
Seraphically Disinclined
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2000
- Posts
- 25,603
All of the male members of this household are in my backyard now. That's six of them. Of course, three are out cold, Bullwinkle is snoring on the swing, Boris "the Bonehead" Badanov is snoozing in the grass under the swing, and Rocky keeps curling up wherever Stud is at. The rest of them are either working or pretending to work, depending on who is allowed to touch power tools and who isn't.
The box says, and I quote, "Easy installation! Put it together in 2 hours!" This is followed by three pictures of a woman posing with the shed in various stages of construction. Implication, so easy a woman could do it in two hours. Reality: so easy a woman could do it in two hours with directions.
I don't get it and I would appreciate it if someone would explain it to me. There is a perfectly good set of blueprints/directions that came inside the box with all the stuff, minus plywood, that one would need to put this thing together. The Stud picks it up, the directions not the shed, then tosses it over his shoulder saying something about "damned useless directions." It's a shed. A cheap metal one in a box available at mass market in any major home improvement chain store. It's not the trump towers, it's not even a house. It does not come with detailed blueprints. That's why it's cheap.
First step is to wander all over the lawn with a level and a measuring tape. Second step requires cussing. Apparently we never knew that dogs leave a certain, let's call it residue, that has to be cleaned up. I do it once a week. So, we retreat to the kitchen and send the six year old out with a pooperscooper. Coffee is drunk and plans are hashed and rehashed. You'd think they were landing at Normandy or something. The six year old uses his non-power tool to pick up exactly one quarter of a piece of residue and finds a clean spot in the lawn to sit down and pout. It's too hard says he. So the lawn wandering begins again, this time with three people engaged in hunting for hidden land mines, aka dog poop. The dogs are mostly trained to go in one area of the lawn. The puppy goes on the back porch step, ugh, so it's contained. Three hours have passed with the side benefits of the lawn getting cleaned a day early and the tramping has allowed them to plot the precise location of the shed. Very productive and for some reason, the Stud needs a shower and the father in law needs to go buy some milk. I didn't get that part.
All right, the sun is setting, we're fortified with milk and ice tea, we notify the wife that work is about to begin. "Hun, be careful, we're putting up the shed."
"Roger that, Kemosabe." I'm holding a shishkabob skewer, but he's still more dangerous.
The foundations must be laid. They arrange cement bricks of some sort one way. Then another, then another. The level comes out, the a shovel. A spat develops between the elder StudMuffin and the middle StudMuffin over who will weild the shovel. Neither of them speak to each other for 23 minutes. The six year old loses the screws that came with the shed. The StudMuffin weilds his shovel and dad eventually forgives him for it and arranges the bricks again. Rocky, the blindly devoted StudGroupie, decides the best place to curl up for a nap is right behind the Stud. The Stud steps on him, falls on his ass and I can't figure out who was howling louder. The Stud gets up, brushes off his ass, and moves on to dig another hole. The dog follows and turns in his obligatory three circles before settling down on top of the master's feet. "MUFFIN!!! COME GET YOUR STUPID DOG!!!!" Well, he's not MY dog. Ask him whose dog he is, he'll tell ya, he belongs right squarely to his beloved Studboy. So, the dog is corralled in the kitchen and since I drop food on the floor while I'm cooking, this isn't such a bad thing.
The included floorkit is next. So are the mosquitoes. Sunset brings them out. Lay a piece, slap slap slap, lay a piece, slap slap slap. Lots of cussing and flailing around. The battle of the insects is on and they are losing. The enemy is many and we are few. Halfway through the floorkit, they come charging into the house. My hands are immersed in a big bowl full of biscuit dough. The Stud shoves a bottle of calamine under my nose and demands that I put it on him. Shya right.
That was yesterday. Today they actually wrassled the floor into place. It turns out they decided that the recommended floor wasn't good enough. I bet it took them abour four hours at Home Depot to decide which piece of flooring would be best. Decision by committee. The problem with the floor is that it's too thick. They bought 5/8s to make sure it wouldn't collapse under the weight of all those heavy things we're throwing in there. 3/4s is standard. So out came the powertools and the frantic search for the directions. The directions were found, well most of them, on the swing with Bullwinkle the paper eating chihuahua about 15 minutes into the search and rescue operation.
Well, they've been drilling, sawing, and hammering for about two hours now. The walls are up and not shaking. The roof and doors are next. Either that or the argument. Never trust the two older ones when they get the "blueprints" spread out with a glass of iced tea in their hands. That generally translates into an argument when one or the other will threaten to move out. The six year old has a 7 and 1/2 foot piece of 1x1 that he's weilding like a weapon and threating to whoop King Gidorah (his personal enemy as well as Toho Co. trademarked enemy of Godzilla) into next week.
I'm hiding and Rocky the StudGroupie is sleeping on my feet.
I'd be afraid, but the Stud is a journeyman carpenter and the fatherinlaw is a master carpenter, they may take the hard way to do anything, but they usually get it done okay. Just as long as I don't have to participate, well, we'll all eventually get along.
I still don't get it. Why is putting up this damned thing so hard?
The box says, and I quote, "Easy installation! Put it together in 2 hours!" This is followed by three pictures of a woman posing with the shed in various stages of construction. Implication, so easy a woman could do it in two hours. Reality: so easy a woman could do it in two hours with directions.
I don't get it and I would appreciate it if someone would explain it to me. There is a perfectly good set of blueprints/directions that came inside the box with all the stuff, minus plywood, that one would need to put this thing together. The Stud picks it up, the directions not the shed, then tosses it over his shoulder saying something about "damned useless directions." It's a shed. A cheap metal one in a box available at mass market in any major home improvement chain store. It's not the trump towers, it's not even a house. It does not come with detailed blueprints. That's why it's cheap.
First step is to wander all over the lawn with a level and a measuring tape. Second step requires cussing. Apparently we never knew that dogs leave a certain, let's call it residue, that has to be cleaned up. I do it once a week. So, we retreat to the kitchen and send the six year old out with a pooperscooper. Coffee is drunk and plans are hashed and rehashed. You'd think they were landing at Normandy or something. The six year old uses his non-power tool to pick up exactly one quarter of a piece of residue and finds a clean spot in the lawn to sit down and pout. It's too hard says he. So the lawn wandering begins again, this time with three people engaged in hunting for hidden land mines, aka dog poop. The dogs are mostly trained to go in one area of the lawn. The puppy goes on the back porch step, ugh, so it's contained. Three hours have passed with the side benefits of the lawn getting cleaned a day early and the tramping has allowed them to plot the precise location of the shed. Very productive and for some reason, the Stud needs a shower and the father in law needs to go buy some milk. I didn't get that part.
All right, the sun is setting, we're fortified with milk and ice tea, we notify the wife that work is about to begin. "Hun, be careful, we're putting up the shed."
"Roger that, Kemosabe." I'm holding a shishkabob skewer, but he's still more dangerous.
The foundations must be laid. They arrange cement bricks of some sort one way. Then another, then another. The level comes out, the a shovel. A spat develops between the elder StudMuffin and the middle StudMuffin over who will weild the shovel. Neither of them speak to each other for 23 minutes. The six year old loses the screws that came with the shed. The StudMuffin weilds his shovel and dad eventually forgives him for it and arranges the bricks again. Rocky, the blindly devoted StudGroupie, decides the best place to curl up for a nap is right behind the Stud. The Stud steps on him, falls on his ass and I can't figure out who was howling louder. The Stud gets up, brushes off his ass, and moves on to dig another hole. The dog follows and turns in his obligatory three circles before settling down on top of the master's feet. "MUFFIN!!! COME GET YOUR STUPID DOG!!!!" Well, he's not MY dog. Ask him whose dog he is, he'll tell ya, he belongs right squarely to his beloved Studboy. So, the dog is corralled in the kitchen and since I drop food on the floor while I'm cooking, this isn't such a bad thing.
The included floorkit is next. So are the mosquitoes. Sunset brings them out. Lay a piece, slap slap slap, lay a piece, slap slap slap. Lots of cussing and flailing around. The battle of the insects is on and they are losing. The enemy is many and we are few. Halfway through the floorkit, they come charging into the house. My hands are immersed in a big bowl full of biscuit dough. The Stud shoves a bottle of calamine under my nose and demands that I put it on him. Shya right.
That was yesterday. Today they actually wrassled the floor into place. It turns out they decided that the recommended floor wasn't good enough. I bet it took them abour four hours at Home Depot to decide which piece of flooring would be best. Decision by committee. The problem with the floor is that it's too thick. They bought 5/8s to make sure it wouldn't collapse under the weight of all those heavy things we're throwing in there. 3/4s is standard. So out came the powertools and the frantic search for the directions. The directions were found, well most of them, on the swing with Bullwinkle the paper eating chihuahua about 15 minutes into the search and rescue operation.
Well, they've been drilling, sawing, and hammering for about two hours now. The walls are up and not shaking. The roof and doors are next. Either that or the argument. Never trust the two older ones when they get the "blueprints" spread out with a glass of iced tea in their hands. That generally translates into an argument when one or the other will threaten to move out. The six year old has a 7 and 1/2 foot piece of 1x1 that he's weilding like a weapon and threating to whoop King Gidorah (his personal enemy as well as Toho Co. trademarked enemy of Godzilla) into next week.
I'm hiding and Rocky the StudGroupie is sleeping on my feet.
I'd be afraid, but the Stud is a journeyman carpenter and the fatherinlaw is a master carpenter, they may take the hard way to do anything, but they usually get it done okay. Just as long as I don't have to participate, well, we'll all eventually get along.
I still don't get it. Why is putting up this damned thing so hard?
