The joys of homeownership! Ben, bless his heart, as his fellow southern folk would say. He was practically bursting with pride.
After finally snagging that coveted "adulting" badge in the form of a mortgage, he couldn't wait to christen his new digs with a backyard bash. The guest list was curated, the barbecye was prepped, and the playlist was painstakingly crafted to achieve that perfect balance of "chill vibes" and "subtle hints that I have excellent taste, you guys."
But the real star of the show, according to Ben, was the patio furniture. Oh, this wasn't just any patio furniture, mind you. We're talking a sleek, modern ensemble, the kind you see in magazines accompanying articles about "effortless outdoor entertaining."
Ben had envisioned his friends lounging in stylish comfort, sipping artisanal cocktails, and marveling at his landscaping prowess (which, let's be honest, was mostly just meticulously weeded).
The anticipation was palpable. He eagerly ripped open the boxes, a gleam in his eye reminiscent of a kid on Christmas morning. Armed with the Allen wrench that came with the set, he embarked on his furniture-assembly journey.
Now, Ben isn't exactly known for his DIY skills. His attempts at hanging picture frames usually result in more drywall damage than framed art (we'll get to the mallet-to-hammer-a-screw-into-the-wall story another time) and his "fix-it" solutions often involve copious amounts of duct tape and a healthy dose of prayer.
But undeterred, Ben wrestled with the instructions, which, as always, seemed to be written in a language only understood by Swedish furniture designers and possibly advanced squirrels. He hammered, he screwed, he contemplated throwing the entire set into the pool (which, thankfully, he doesn't have).
Hours later, sweating and only slightly defeated, Ben stood back to admire his handiwork. The chairs stood (sort of) upright, the table looked (mostly) level, and a vague sense of accomplishment washed over him.
A nagging feeling lingered.
Why were there so many leftover bits and bobs? Little metal brackets, tiny screws and strangely shaped plastic pieces lay scattered around him like the remnants of a robot uprising.
"Eh, probably just extras," Ben shrugged, dismissing the unsettling pile. "Better to have too much than not enough, right?" Oh, Ben. Oh, how wrong he was.
The guests arrived, bearing gifts of wine and questionable potluck dishes. Ben, beaming with pride, ushered them onto the patio, gesturing grandly at the newly assembled furniture.
"Make yourselves comfortable!" he chirped.
And they did. For a while.
The first sign of trouble came from Unnamed Friend 1, who let out a little yelp as her chair suddenly dipped precariously to one side. "Oops!" she laughed nervously, readjusting herself. Then, Unnamed Friend 2's chair emitted a disconcerting creak followed by a distinct snap, sending him sprawling onto the meticulously weeded (but now slightly trampled) lawn.
Soon, it was a domino effect of furniture failures. One by one, the chairs succumbed to gravity, collapsing under the weight of bewildered guests. The centerpiece of hummus and crudités, perched precariously on the wobbly table, began to slide ominously before ultimately taking a dramatic plunge onto the grass.
The scene resembled a particularly clumsy game of musical chairs, only nobody was laughing (except maybe Ben's neighbor, who had a prime view from his balcony).
As the dust settled (literally, as the disintegrating furniture had a noticeable amount of sawdust embedded within), Ben surveyed the wreckage. The guests, now perched uncomfortably on the ground or leaning against the house, regarded him with a mixture of amusement and mild concern.
It was then, amidst the chaos and the rubble, that the horrifying truth dawned on Ben.
Those "extra" pieces? They weren't extras at all. They were, in fact, crucial structural components, without which his expensive patio furniture was basically a collection of glorified cardboard cutouts.
Ben's dream of a sophisticated backyard soiree had devolved into a comedic disaster. He learned a valuable lesson that day: always read the instructions, and maybe, just maybe, leave the furniture assembly to the professionals.
As for the guests? They now have a hilarious story to tell for years to come, and Ben has a perfectly good excuse to request they bring their own lawn chairs to sit on next time.