I chose it for the sleek lines and the mid-century modern vibe. But when I flipped open the instruction manual, I realized I hadn’t bought a table. I had bought a foreign policy crisis in a box.
Is it sturdy? No. Is it ethical? Probably not. Does it have a dark, polished finish that hides the stains of red sauce from last night's pizza? Absolutely.
I recently bought a piece of furniture called the nixon coffee table assembly instructions
Warning: This post contains no actual political scandals, but it does contain high stakes, a few missing washers, and the potential for a very wobbly leg.
I was assembling the lower shelf. I had the bracket in one hand and the screw in the other. Everything was going smoothly. I looked down at my watch. I chose it for the sleek lines and
Suddenly,
I blinked. I was now sitting on the floor with the bracket upside down, a screwdriver in my mouth, and the instruction page missing. Page 7 (the crucial "lower shelf alignment" page) was just... gone. Erased. Covered in what looked like old coffee. Is it sturdy
But here is the genius of the Nixon assembly method:
I have no memory of what happened during that time. Did I assemble it correctly? Did I strip the threading? The world may never know. I call it "plausible deniability." Step 7 is brutal. It tells you to flip the table over onto its feet.
If the table stands firm? You have won the election. You pour a whiskey (or a ginger ale) and stare out the window at the Chesapeake Bay. After three hours, a lot of sweating, and one unconfirmed report of a stripped screw in the Southeast corner, the Nixon Coffee Table was built.
Read the instructions three times. Trust nobody. And for god's sake, tape down the rug before you start. You don't want those missing dowels rolling under the sofa where they can conspire against you.