Anna Branford

Candles and flat packs

Since the weekend, two contrasting scenarios have been dancing around in my head.

Scenario one:

A few months ago I bought a candle, one of those nice French ones in a jar that looks like a big glass of milk. I paid for it and while the woman behind the counter was wrapping it in tissue and putting it in a bag she said to me, reading from the little pamphlet that came with it, ’Now, make sure you don’t leave it burning unattended.’ 

‘Alright,’ I said, ‘I won’t.’

‘And if you burn it for more than a couple of hours, you’ll need to trim the wick.’

‘Okay,’ I said.

‘Do you know how to trim the wick?’

‘Um, I think so,’ I said.

‘Because you can’t just use normal scissors. You need wick-trimming scissors. Otherwise you could damage the candle. Do you have wick-trimming scissors at home?’

‘Yes,’ I lied. (And surely she knew this was a lie. Who has wick-trimming scissors?)

‘Remember, the wick should never be more than about one centimetre long.’ She held her thumb and finger about a centimetre apart in case I found this confusing.

‘I’ll remember,’ I said.

And while she explained how I could maximise fragrance retention by ensuring I kept the lid on whenever it wasn’t burning, I backed out of the shop carrying my candle (the untrimmed wick of which is currently burning unattended atop my piano and seems to be doing just fine).

Scenario two:

A week or so ago I bought some shelves and arranged to have them delivered. They looked lovely in the shop – huge, solid and a slightly unusual shape so that I was quite looking forward to having them and arranging all my bits and pieces into the different sections. I honestly can’t recall much of my conversation with the saleswoman there, but it was something along the lines of, ‘I’d like those shelves please’ and ‘Alright then, we’ll deliver them in a flat pack on Friday’.

I’m pretty sure there was nothing along the lines of  ‘Have you had much experience with assembling furniture? Because I should warn you that these shelves are designed to be assembled by people with advanced degrees in furniture assembly.’ No mention of ’Don’t even consider trying to put these together by yourself because you won’t have snowflake’s chance in hell of being able to move the box since it weighs several tonnes.’ Not so much as a whisker of  ‘You do have a hammer and a set of screwdrivers with all sorts of heads, don’t you? Because we’re assuming you have a full toolkit at home and are extremely adept at using everything in it.’

Before my shelves arrived on Friday morning I’d already woken up early and assembled a flat pack table (I have been replacing some furniture) so I was feeling quite cocky and efficient. I was thinking that I could be a sort of modern day Proverbs 31 woman. We both like to riseth while it is yet night. Neither of us are inclined to eateth the bread of idleness. She layeth her hands to the spindle and her hands grasp the distaff – I layeth my hands to the bolts in package B and my hands grasp the allan key. I was thinking that she and I are two of a kind really, and would probably get on quite well.

Anyway, after the shelves arrived I spent three hours or so turning the instructions round and round trying to make something in the picture even slightly resemble anything in the box. Then I turned the different pieces round and round in case that helped, which it didn’t. Then I tried to drag it all into a bigger room where I thought I might have more luck if I spread it all out, but unlike Madam Proverbs 31, who girdeth her loins with strength, I pulledeth a muscle in my back and ended up making an emotional phonecall to my significant other who, bless him, came round. He encouraged me to continue with my deep breathing exercises and calming affirmations and found me some panadol. And after about six hours of non-stop back breaking labour for both of us, I had a very nice set of shelves.

So why the contrast? Why does half the world treat me like an idiot (not just candle-sellers, but food manufacturers who provide me with warnings not to eat the packaging and public transport systems which advise me that  jumping out of moving trains may be injurious to my health) while the other half seems to assume I am some kind of over achieving Mensa member (not just furniture shops, but IT professionals who glibly assume I will be au fait with some incredibly complex piece of software that came out two weeks ago and people who write recipe books, which is a whole other can of worms)?

I can’t understand it at all.