Lawnmower Callback

 

 

I discovered the other day that I was paying a web-hosting company for an old-unto-death website and registration. I shut it down and dropped all the webpages and files back onto my local computer so I could see whether there was anything of value on there. Found some nuggets that were vaguely useful. I also found this — yeah, the date on it is correct, it was written 30 years ago. The only edits are marked with brackets ([ ]). Other than that, a straight dump of where I was 30+ years ago. Hey, it gave ME a chuckle…

5-22-91

Back at it again. It's my day off. [The Beneficiary] and I just finished a movie, and she was sleepy, so went to bed. I, on the other hand, am bored, and decided that I'd work on this for awhile, especially as the other viable option is a Green Acres re-run. The current problem is that I haven't the slightest idea what to write about.

In doing this thing, I have found that I generally have to force myself through the first few paragraphs, then just let things flow after that. Writing is not a natural function for me, and I usually begin with what I can only describe as a mental gridlock, so I get things going by writing about anything (like I am now) and see where it goes.

So far, it's not going anywhere.

[Deleted]

I must pick a subject, or at least a starting point.

I'll write about my new lawn mower and desk lamp.

Our front lawn is a crawling disaster, being heavily overgrown. The recent rains, while welcome to everyone else, caused our grass to grow to a sufficient depth to hide a small cat (this by experiment). Since we lie in a neighborhood apparently populated by Ward and June Cleaver clones, ours is the only lawn visible which provides any evidence that grass was not originally created as a manicured putting green.

This sort of thing doesn't normally bother me (although I'm sure it exasperates the neighbors to tears), however wading through the greenery finally got even my notice.

I immediately took action to correct the matter. I told [The Beneficiary] to have the boys cut the grass at their next opportunity.

It was then that I found that the boys, disliking lawn mowing nearly as much as I, had failed to notify me that our lawn mower was DOA, apparently hoping I wouldn't notice. I didn't inquire into how the machine had died, as I got the distinct impression that I didn't want to know. The problem of the hyperactive grass, however, remained.

Today, [The Beneficiary] and I went to a local store and purchased a lawn mower. This time, we got a simple push mower because:

• I believe that a little physical exercise is good for the boys, and running a push mower through that jungle would be as good as boot camp;
  
  
• I could never decide between electric and gas mowers anyway;
  
  
• I am tired of laying out $150.00 every year for a new thing of limited usefulness (did I mention that all this is an annual event?)
  
  
• Killing a push mower is not nearly as easy as killing an engine, which should encourage resourcefulness in the boys.

In any event, we took the boxed mower home with us, where it was greeted with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

This is not the story. Trust me, we're getting there.

After getting the mower home, [The Beneficiary], [Kid #3], and I went to another store to purchase a wrench and screwdriver to put the thing together. (I could have had tools, but I had children instead. You can believe that finding Truth in the world is difficult, but I can tell you it doesn't hold a candle to trying to find any of your tools if you have kids.)

While wandering around this store, we also bought various other items, including a desk lamp that I can use as a bed-lamp. Theoretically, I can now read in bed without keeping her awake.

We took our new treasures home.

This is not the story either, but we're closer.

On unpacking the various items, including the boxed lawn mower, I discovered something to which I'd never given much thought before -- The Instructions, specifically those for the lawnmower and the lamp.

In the case of the lawnmower, putting it together basically consisted of attaching the handle. That's it. Three bolts. About as complicated as breathing.

The instructions for accomplishing this ran three paragraphs, along with two illustrations. There was also a separate highlighted instruction (this is the one that got my attention), and it was not only on the instruction sheet, but was printed (in bold letters and two color illustrations) on every available surface of the box the thing was packed in.

What, you may ask, was of such critical importance?

It showed the "right" and "wrong" way to attach the handles. If they are attached the "wrong" way, the mower won't work. Of course, I cannot understand how anyone could get the handles attached the "wrong" way, since doing so involves considerable ingenuity and dedication, and it's as clear as glass just looking at it that it won't work that way.

I commented to [The Beneficiary] that the average run of people must be even dumber than I gave them credit for. I mean, consider for a moment: Would a lawnmower manufacturer (who after all, is presumably trying to cut costs) make such a point of printing this all over the product if he hadn't at some point gotten a huge number of complaints and returned mowers with the handles wedged in the vitals? What percentage of the buying public is too dumb to figure this out just looking at it?

Apparently a large enough percentage that the manufacturer finally said "I give up -- draw them pictures and print it all over the thing, because I can't afford their stupidity any more."

I went on in this vein for some time, finally wrapping it up by saying that as poor a view of mankind as I hold, I still could not believe that anyone was that dumb, and I believed that the manufacturer had gone a little overboard.

[Kid #3], who had been watching all this (probably hoping I'd attach the handles the "wrong" way, thereby disabling a critical component necessary for mowing the lawn) spoke up. It seems that the neighbors (parents of friends of his) had once had a mower like this. The finally sold it at a garage sale because it "never really worked very well". [Kid #3] noted that it looked just like the "wrong" picture on the box.

After I'd wiped the tears of laughter away, I proceeded to the next project -- my desk lamp.

Once again, the first thing that fell out of the box were instructions. By now, I was getting used to this sort of thing, so I actually sat down and read them. A full paragraph and a sentence explaining how to plug it into a socket rushed past me, and I finally got to the section I'd been waiting on: The Operating Instructions. They were, in their entirety:

• To turn the lamp on: Press the "ON" button.
  
  
• To turn the lamp off: Press the "OFF" button.

I once read a science fiction/social satire by Douglas Adams called "So Long And Thanks For All The Fish". The title is derived from the disappearance of all the dolphins in the world.

It seems that Man was only the second most intelligent species on the planet, the dolphins being much smarter. The dolphins were aware that the planet was about to be demolished by a race who was building an interspatial bypass. Due to the vast differences between the species and the intelligence involved, however, all the dolphins' efforts to warn mankind of the pending construction project were misinterpreted as entertainment.

Finally realizing the futility of trying to tell Man anything, the dolphins left the planet for safer climes. As their last act, the dolphins at Sea World performed a spectacular triple flip with a twist through a trainer's hoop (to much applause) which, had anyone been able to translate it, would have been interpreted as "So long, and thanks for all the fish!"

This very funny book (third in the "Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy" series) contains a character that I didn't fully appreciate until today. As far as anyone could tell, he'd gone mad. After all, he lived on the beach, had cut the rest of mankind off from himself, and would only answer inquiries as to his mental state with "Read a packet of toothpicks."

The hero finally gets this individual to explain himself. On a packet of toothpicks there are instructions. Extensive instructions. On how to use a sliver of wood to get junk out from between one's teeth. The "madman" clarified his position: Any race that is so stupid that it needs instructions on how to pick its teeth was a race he wanted no truck with.

After today, I can [understand] that.