Not One of My Gifts

            Some people have a brain that’s good at seeing how things work. Physical things. They can look at a machine, or a household mechanical problem, and figure out how to fix it, often without having to consult an instruction manual. I think Kim’s whole family shares the genes that make such simple miracles happen. This ability is not one of my gifts.

 

            Let me share a few examples.

 

            I bought a leaf-mulching machine. Plug it in and a plastic string whirls around, chopping up the leaves you dump in the top, and out comes the leaf mulch at the bottom, ready for the garden. Easy. It came in a box that included 4 metal legs, a frame where the legs attach, another piece containing the motor and strings plus an on/off switch and a socket for the plug, and a wide funnel on the top where you feed the leaves. Easy. Except I could not get the damn thing together. The legs went on simply: 4 legs, 4 slots to stick them in. But the piece with the motor would not fit on top of the leg assembly! And the funnel would not fit on top of that! As I studied the problem, I was further annoyed at the idiots who had manufactured this machine and then I saw that all of the writing on the outside of the housing was written upside down! How could I trust these incompetents?! It then occurred to me, in a flash of insight, that I had the troublesome middle piece upside down. I turned it over, and everything fit together. I was a little nervous plugging it in, but it hummed enthusiastically. Problem solved.

 

            An earlier story of my success occurred several years ago when I was visiting my younger brother, John, who was living in a small apartment in Phoenix. As he walked me around the place, he complained that one of his kitchen plugs was broken, so he could not use his toaster. I looked at the cover and noticed it had a little button toward the middle. I pushed the button and it clicked. “Try it now,” I told him. He did. It worked. John was amazed. He said it had been broken for weeks, and he thought I was a genius. I don’t know where I had learned about the Ground Fault Interrupter (GFI). Probably one had saved me from electrocuting myself while plugging in a wet toothbrush and I heard the button click. Whatever – I felt like a hot shit.

 

            But the best of my mechanical achievements occurred a few months ago when I successfully assembled an Inversion Table that I bought on Amazon. Lying on it is supposed to be good for the back, stretching out the vertebrae that gravity has been compacting for decades.  It (the table, not my spine) had hundreds of parts, including bolts and screws of various sizes. This, I thought, will require consultation with the instruction manual. I began the process laying everything out on the floor of our basement. Quite a display!

 

            About eight hours later, I was finished. I tried it, carefully climbing on and tilting it back beyond level, and it worked! By that I don’t mean that it helped my spinal health. No, I simply mean that it did not collapse with a loud metallic crash, injuring and humiliating me. I called Kim down to witness my triumph. She gave me a hug and told me that I can do just about anything, and that I should have more confidence in myself.

 

            Well, perhaps. But what I did was write an email to the company that made the inversion table, complimenting them on the quality of the instruction manual, explaining that I’m usually not good at this assembly stuff, but I sailed (slowly) through a complex process. Please, I said, pass my compliments and my thanks up or over to those responsible for writing those instructions. I realize now that my note says more about me than it does about the quality of the instructions. I have told more than one repairman, “I can’t fix many things, but I can fix your paragraph.” I tried to make my experience about writing.

 

            We sold the inversion table in a garage sale when we thought we were going to sell our house and would certainly not have room for it in a condo (that we did not buy). And besides, Kim’s back was too sore for her to ever use the device, so up the basement stairs and out the door to a lucky buyer. He does not know how fortunate he is that he did not have to assemble the thing. My eight hours of work saved him maybe two hours.

 

Please note that I have not written about dealing with computers. I am, laughably, tech support in our home . . ..

 

This just in:

 

Successfully fixed Kim’s camera lens when I noticed two tiny loose screws, and I found a tiny screw driver.