Last week we decided to buy a wardrobe to hang our clothes in. We had got by until now with the four drawers of the secretaire, but my wife thought enough was enough - it wasn't really meant for storing clothes.
Yoong had already arranged to go shopping with Holly, who needed to buy up some extra furniture for her young American clients of Cultural Experiences Abroad. But nothing at the second-hand store was suitable, so they ended up driving to Conforama, a big furniture shop, where they picked out a nice new wardrobe that looked as if it would fit into the apartment. There was a thirty euro delivery charge, but Holly said Tattoo, her West Indian delivery man, owed her a favour and arranged for him to pick it up for us.
I was a bit concerned to hear that Tattoo was going to deliver our brand new armoire, considering the damage to the secretaire the last time he brought us furniture up three flights of stairs. However, I needn't have worried, for, when Tattoo and his mate arrived, what they carried in was just two long flat boxes labelled A and B with a picture of a wardrobe on the front. Nobody had told us we were buying a do-it-yourself wardrobe construction kit. If there was any indication in the shop, Yoong and Holly had both missed it. I have never constructed anything in my life except for the occasional story or song, so it was with some dismay that I started to unpack the pieces, a process which took half an hour and left our small bedroom cluttered with wooden boards of all shapes and sizes.
At least the instructions were not in French – they weren't in any language. They were a series of diagrams with numbers and arrows showing step-by-step how to put the thing together. At the start there was a table giving the dimensions of the 26 slabs of wood that I now possessed, followed by pictures of 17 types of items included in the kit, such as nails and screws of different sizes and various unidentifiable bits of metal, the purpose of which would perhaps be revealed at some stage of the construction. There were also six pictures of items not included in the kit which it was assumed the purchaser would have lying somewhere around the house. The first diagram showed two little men. It was not clear whether this meant the minimum number of people required for this work was two, or just that human beings in general were essential for the task. The next five panels showed a hammer, two types of screwdriver, a measuring tape, a right-angled object which I don't know the name of and a drill. Apart from the two little men, which could be reasonably approximated by Yoong and myself, the only one of these items we possessed was a measuring tape, part of Yoong's small sewing kit. I sent Yoong down to Holly's office to see if she happened to have any hammers or screwdrivers on her. Amazingly, she came back with a heavy tool-box full of all sorts of useful-looking gadgets, including a hammer and a range of screwdrivers. We never did find a drill or the right-angled thing, but somehow managed to get by without them.
The final diagram in the introductory section was a little clock labelled 1H30. If this meant that in one-and-a-half hours I would be the proud owner of a new wardrobe, then it was a gross overestimation of my mechanical competence. On the other hand, if it meant I would be up until 1.30 a.m. trying to complete the job, then it was a fairly accurate prediction.
There were eleven panels of diagrams showing the steps to be followed. The first, for example, showed a piece of wood labelled number 1, which, by referring to the introductory table I found was 1998 x 590 (mm presumably), and pictures of some attachments that had to be attached to it, and a picture of the type of screw to be used. With the help of the measuring tape we managed to identify piece of wood number one and we were on our way. We succeeded in reaching Panel 5 without any major mishaps.
It was only at Panel 8, when we had to stand the whole thing up that I realised something had gone very wrong in the two previous stages. The back of the wardrobe, a thinner type of wood, was curved inward in a most unwardrobelike way. As Yoong pointed out, it was also back-to-front. The white side should have been the inside back of the wardrobe. Also there were bits jutting out of the front which would not have allowed the doors to fit on properly. So we had to lay it all down again, unpick the nails, unscrew several screws and go back to Instruction Panel 6 again.
This time it worked. Okay, there were some nail-holes that shouldn't have been there, but they would be hidden when the doors were on and closed.
I decided to leave the four drawers until the morning as another little clock said they needed two hours of glue-drying time. At least our bed was no longer covered with wooden planks and bundles of variously-sized screws, so we were able to sleep.
Now we have a functional new wardrobe standing in the corner of our bedroom. The tops of the doors don't quite share the same horizontal plane and there are a few screws and other strange bits and pieces left over but the latter can be hidden away and how often is anyone going to look up at the top of the wardrobe? Of course, when I consider what my builder brothers-in-law would be able to do, my achievement is like colouring in a picture in a child's colouring book compared to a painting by a real artist. Nevertheless I do have a sense of pride at having completed a task I would never have voluntarily taken on.
Yoong suggested I would now be able to do the same kind of thing in Australia when we next have to furnish a house. I don't think so. One such feat per lifetime is sufficient for me.