Directions

Two weekends ago, I finally found the perfect café table and chair set for my wrap-around porch at my apartment.  Wrought iron, just beautiful, comfortable, unwobbly (which is pretty cool), and not too expensive either.

Anyway, as I got stuff home, I, with great anticipation, opened everything up (to see what I had) and laid out all the pieces.  I then proceeded to read through the directions, only to, almost immediately, stand to my feet, walk over to my little laundry room, and deposit said directions into the little paper-recycling bag I store on top of the dryer.

Yep…I recycled them.

I mean, can you really blame me?  The "directions," if you can call them that, were COMPLETELY useless and, perhaps, the WORST set of directions I’d encountered in a really long time.  They were almost as bad as something along the following lines…

Assembly Instructions:

Step One:  Open box.

“Ummm….yeah, I already did that.”

Step Two:  Carefully lay out all the parts.

“Yeah…did that, too.  Okay!  So far so good!”

Step Four:  fkkdusofofmkeksjoldljcf.

“Una que pasa?  And where did step three go?”

Step Three ("Oh...there you are!"):  Enjoy your table and chair set.  Oh, and, for safety’s sake, please DO NOT operate "equipment" in front of a moving bus.

“Nice.  And exceedingly helpful, too!” wrote the man sitting at his computer.

This sort of thing reminds me of a writing exercise I was challenged to work on during a creative writing class I took through my work about fifteen years ago.  The assignment was to write out a set of instructions for tying one's shoes.   

Now…before you dismiss such a thing too quickly as elementary, my dear Watson, you need to know that writing out useful directions for such a thing can be incredibly challenging.

The whole class was given twenty minutes to complete the exercise.  If I recall, there were close to fifteen people in the class, and I knew all of them quite well as I had worked with most of them pretty closely over the previous four to five years.

I took the entire twenty minutes—and then some—to complete the assignment.

Yeah...so, anyway, at the end of the twenty minutes, we each began, one by one, to read our instructions.  Prior to each person reading, we were instructed to untie our shoes and then try to tie them in the manner proscribed by whomever was the “designated directions reader” at the time.  I wish I’d caught all this on video or something because, within a very short time, the whole thing seemed to deteriorate pretty much into a hysterical time of disorganized knot tying.  And—you know?—maybe that was the point. 

Without fail, every set of directions was unable to produce a single pair of adequately tied shoes.

And then it was my turn (I like to go last in these kinds of things).  And this is where the and then some, I wrote of above, came in to play, for during the time when one of the group was reading his instructions—I think it was my long-time friend and work colleague, Scott Ramsey—I worked feverishly to “modify” mine in accordance with what I thought to be a flash of brilliance (This is, of course, debatable; so I will let you judge that for yourself.).  Anyway, as Scott finished, my turn came up, and, like everyone else, I now was granted the opportunity to, in fact, produce what had, heretofore, eluded every other instructions writer, and that is, the production of a pair of adequately tied shoes.  So...away I went…

Ahem…

Okay...Hello, everyone...

How to Tie One's Shoes…

By Dave Brown, PE, March 8, 1995…

Step 1…

On one shoe, carefully grasp the left lace with your left hand and the right lace with your right hand...

Step 2…

Tie your shoe.

Step 3...
Repeat Steps 1 and 2 for the other shoe.

Step 4...

Proceed forth with your day.

Step 2a…

If you were, unfortunately, unable to complete step 2, please see someone who can tie his or her shoes, and ask that person to "show you" how to do it.

The end. 

Within two minutes of my finishing the reading of my instructions, nearly every person in the room was, once again, wearing a pair of adequately tied shoes.  If I recall, there were two or three women in the class who had on sandals or flats of some sort, which didn't need tying.

You know?...It's interesting, but I learned a very valuable lesson that day.  And that’s this:  There’s only so much you can learn from a book or a set of written instructions.  In fact, there’s actually very little you can learn from such things.  Most of what we learn in life—and this is not intended to be disrespectful of reading, for I LOVE to read, and I STRONGLY encourage it—is caught from others, simply through being in relationship with those around us, and with those who’ve been around the block a few times...with those who ALREADY KNOW whatever it is that we want to know.  That's why teachers and mentors are soooo vitally important in life.  I learned something else that day, too, and that’s this:  The best conditions for learning are those characterized by light-hearted banter in the arena of a safe playing field on which to practice and explore.

Oh, that I might provide such an atmosphere for those around me.

Peace…

Bling

BTW, and this is just a side…I think the John Deere Company writes the best instructions of anyone or any company in the world.  Check them out some time…for, in my opinion, nothing reads like a Deere…  :o)