Me, pondering
What am I pondering, you might ask? The worst set of instructions for the installation of a room air conditioner I’ve ever encountered…and I’ve tried to follow a few in my day. I’m not going to give the brand name — it happens to live up to its hype as the quietest, most efficient machine on the market — but I will say that if it had been written by a committee of meerkats, I guarantee they’d have done a better job.
It took the best part of the afternoon, dipping into bottles of Naproxen Sodium and Ibuprofen and taking time out to let a pulled muscle in my back relax sufficiently that I could continue, but Tracy and got it done. And just in time. It crossed the threshold of 80 here today, and tonight it’s supposed to be in the mid-70 as we’re pounded by thunderstorms with high winds and driving rain. But we’ll be buttoned up in our bedroom listening to the wind rage outside while our new air conditioner purrs away in the window.
More when my back recovers tomorrow.
I have a smaller, older version of the same model, and I can assure you that the thing will freeze the handles off your dresser while serving up enough white noise to drown any snoring. I can also assure you that given the effort you expended to install the damned thing you will probably not need it again until mid-August; your neighbors should thank you for ending the hot spell. One of my favorite English professors, who finished grad school and got his first teaching gig after serving in WWII, was paid so poorly when he started out that he moonlighted by writing instruction manuals for weapons manufacturers. Sid spoke in perfect paragraphs and demanded precision. His instructions for your job would have been in large print on a postcard, and the analgesics would not have been necessary.
A lucrative business awaits the entrepreneur who will write product manuals that are understandable to the average person.
They are currently written by lawyers and engineers. Need I say more?
I refuse to read them, unless I can’t figure something out on my own and I have to turn to them as an absolute last resort.
When I do read them, my blood starts its progression to a low boil, as I find myself rewriting them in my head in plain simple language that would be understandable to a child.
Imagine if the three-quarter inch thick owners manual that came with your car* were reduced to maybe 5 or 10 pages of simple instructions and clear information?
Instead of a half-page boldfaced warning in red not to lean over your moving fan belt with a dangling necktie, you could quickly find useful information, like where the button is to open the hood or the gas tank.
* make that three or four inches thick if the manuals are helpfully provided in 18 languages — Filling most of the glove compartment in cars sold in countries where English is the predominant language