That'll Fix Your Little Red Workbench

My son likes to pretend to fix things using his various play tools so for his three-year birthday I wanted to give him his own workbench and starter toolset. 

Too early, you say?  Maybe... maybe not.  The original plan was to build him one so about a week before the event I bopped off to Lowe's to pick up the parts that I needed to make that happen.

On the way to the lumber aisles I walked by a small section devoted to kids projects.  Red Toolbox has pre-packaged kits that have all the parts you need to build birdhouses, old-timey toolboxes, and even little catapults - the same kits you may have seen kids and parents assembling on Saturday mornings while you were at Lowe's picking up caulk or something.

The people that put together the kits also sell a workbench - a nice looking one at that.  After running the numbers it turned out to be cheaper than what I was going to build as well.  And, honestly, a kit was going to look nicer and save me a lot of time I didn't have.  I threw the unexpectedly heavy box onto the pushcart and picked out the old-timey toolbox and a starter set of kid's tools.

The toolkit contained goggles, a Philips and a flathead screwdriver, a wood file, a hammer, a saw, a measuring tape, and a clamp.  I also picked him up a little smock and gave him a small $10 cordless screwdriver I had laying around.

I brought the box home, opened it up, and located the instructions.  My heart sank.  It was a pretty thick book, and I had flashbacks to the Windsor Playset project and any number of badly documented furniture kits I have assembled in to past.

But this was different.  The reason the book was so thick wasn't because there were dozens upon dozens of vague, tiny drawings accompanied by descriptions that sound like the author 1) is pressed for time 2) has a personal grudge against you and 3)  simply can't be bothered to translate "grizzled hardware expert speak" into "English".

The first several pages of the manual contain immaculate drawings of all the hardware in the box, complete with descriptions of the parts.  For example, it doesn't just say "squinntzy block, quantity 4".  It tells you what each part is made of in general, English terms, like “square pipe”. Awesome.

I checked off the labeled, simply described parts one by one until I got to the end of the list. On the bottom of page 16, it says, in small, soft gray block letters "Thank you for the time spent assembling our products."

I swear to God, after decades of puzzling out how to put together entertainment centers, playsets, ceiling fans, and an endless parade of coffee and end tables and God knows what else seeing this simple statement was like getting a big ol' hug, a chuck on the arm, and a "You can do it, sport" all rolled into one.

I had to read it a few times to make sure I was seeing it properly.

I blinked and wiped the proto-tear from my eye and got to work following the very simple, very clear instructions.  The steps were small and, not only that, every once in a while a "step" would not require any assembly at all.  It would show you a picture and say "if you have done everything correctly so far, your workbench should look like this", which, to me, translates to "How ya doin', champ? Say, that looks great! You want a soda or a snack or something?  No?  Well, just let me know if you change your mind".

Insert contented sigh here.

The final product is solid, attractive, adjustable, and the boy enjoys it immensely.  We put together the toolbox kit you see here.  He was very proud and we are in the process of painting it now.

The only thing that makes me a little sad is that the kit was not made in the USA. But, if this direction imports are taking with regards to quality, price, and ease of assembly (I am assuming the workbench is not radioactive or outgassing toxic mutagens, of course)... well, to paraphrase Kent Brockman:  I, for one, welcome our new Chinese overlords.