|THREE GUYS WHO WOULD MAKE OUTSTANDING CITY WORKERS look on as one guy struggles to make sense of the gazebo bones. Pig Face, meanwhile, looks for a good place to take a crap.|
I got a lovely gazebo for my backyard yesterday. And because I happen to speak fluent beer, I was able to coax a few "helpers" to come and put it up for me. (Helpers, definition of: Someone who does everything while I watch from the kitchen window, pretending to cook something and calling out encouragement.)
Within minutes, a neighbour had wandered over to help the helpers.
"I see ya got some cold ones!" he said, feigning surprise. The aroma of beer wafts, apparently.
And then another neighbour wandered over. Feck me, I thought, I'm going to need more beer.
Within half an hour, there were six men heatedly discussing the best way to put up the damn thing. Then one left, then two more came ... it went on like this for hours. Hours. I'm not kidding you.
As I watched (well to be honest, I dozed off after awhile. Watching other people work is surprisingly enervating) a question occurred to me:
Q: How many men does it take to put up a gazebo?
A: As many as there happen to be standing around.
Q: No, seriously, how many?
A: At least three, unless there's a dog. Then you need one strictly devoted to watching the dog ... who will eat the instructions the second your back is turned.
Q: OK, but if there's no dog?
A: If there are more than two men, one of them will have a dog.
Q: So let's say there are four men and a dog. And a set of intact instructions. Just give me a ballpark figure, because it's closing in on darkness now and I want to know: will I have a gazebo by nightfall?
A: Well take a look out your window. It's been four hours. Are you even close to having a gazebo yet? No you are not. So the answer to your question would be "Tomorrow. Maybe."
Q: Feck me.