Alan's a Bastard

My daughter graduated from pre-K the other day. This was special. It wasn't the pre-K pre-graduation, that was last year. And it wasn't the preschool graduation, that was the year before. No, this was her last graduation before she enters the cold cruel world of public education.

This is important because I made a promise to her last year. While my son and daughter are related (I know they are mine, but my wife refuses to take a DNA test.) and do the normal teasing and fighting, for siblings, they get along remarkably well. (Every day I pray that this ends before they become teenagers. My wife and I might stand a chance if we can keep them separated, but if they join forces in their evil-teenage-angsty years, we're doomed.)

The whole graduation thing is important because apparently, when I promised my daughter that she could have a bunk bed too, my wife took that to be a real promise. From the exasperated sigh when I asked, “You bought a what?” I even had some kind of input into the decision.

I wasn't overly worried. It wasn't that long ago that I survived assembling my son's bunk bed. And I had both kids helping me. I thought it was be a cool surprise for our new graduate to come home from her last day of school to see her big-girl bed.

Like my son's bunk bed, it came with all the tools, bolts and directions. This entire bed, all 4 million pieces was supposed to be put together with one alan wrench and four pages of directions.

I honestly don't know if Alan started out as a bastard. I'd imagine it started innocently enough...

“Alan, we need you to invent a tool that can be used to put together furniture.”

“It's called a hammer and nails,” I'd imagine he said before returning to whatever project he was working on.

“No, that's too permanent. We want something that can be taken apart easily. Something that the buyers can put together themselves. We'll sell the kits cheaper.”

“Who came up with that insane idea? When you figure medical expenses it would be much cheaper to pay for a qualified person to assemble it.”

“Market research. Wives hate their husbands. Trust us, this theory will be proven out in the years to come,” the evil corporation probably said.

“A screw driver then.”

I imagine these shadow figures shook their heads slowly. They knew they had Alan now. “Too easy. We want the man to feel a sense of accomplishment when it is assembled.”

“At lease give them a chance.” There was probably a hint of desperation in his voice as he felt his soul being sucked out.

“We'll name it after you.”

And Alan's soul was lost.

Later, after fully embracing his betrayal of the human race, I can see him unveiling the tool. “Now, you promised to name it after me. You'll keep your word, you have to.” There was probably a tremor in his hands and voice.

I'd imagine all the evil races in the universe had assembled for the unveiling. Breaths (or whatever passes for that in the aliens) were held as the drums rolled and disco lights flashed. There was probably a little hiss of disappointment at the initial unveil.

“We are not impressed.”

But Alan, being an evil engineer, was ready for this. He knew that simplicity was the key. This is where his true bastardness is revealed.

“The directions for anything are only 4 pages.” He would have held up the assembly manual, with the large pictures, clearly labeled.

“We are not impressed and we are not happy.” By now, the assembled beings would be rustling in irritation. “This is too easy.”

Alan had them right where he wanted them. “The pictures are all the same, not matter the product.”

“Ooooooo.” This was pure genius. “No man will admit he cannot put something together that only has four pages of directions.”

Alan basked in the admiration.

“And your tool? The Alan Wrench?” Now they were eager. What pure evil would be unveiled?

“One tool to put it together,” he would have said as he lifted it high. (The only thing missing was something croaking, “My Precious! (This all happened before the movies came out.))

“But the shape? Why the long part. That will be too easy to turn, won't it?”

An evil smile probably creased his face as he nodded. “It will fit into the bolts perfectly, and the bolts will turn easily. Too easily. As soon as they get on a roll, it will fall out. And by the time it is halfway assembled, the end will be rounded and useless.”

“And they will have to hold the short end? Ooooooo.”

Yes, this is what my wife subjected me to. I'm sure the balance of evil in the universe was irrevocably skewed by her purchase. My daughter's graduation day was on it's way to being ruined.

But, Alan didn't take into account two much greater engineers... Vise and his grips and Duct and his tape...