Last week I bought a set of book ends. Plain acrylic book ends you put on a bookshelf to hold the books that don’t stretch all the way across the shelf. Not fancy. Not decorative. Plain L-shaped hunks of plastic designed to do nothing but hold other things up. Although not patented until 1877, they have certainly been around since there have been books. They are as utilitarian as doorknobs or shoelaces. Things that just are. Why then am I devoting so much space to the humble bookend? It wasn’t the bookends that caught my attention when I first opened the box, aquiver with anticipation that finally I can keep my books from toppling over. It was the piece of paper within the box. The – ahem – instructions for use.

I saw a post on one of the social media sites (which I don’t remember for they are becoming like 1980s era GM cars), “in a 1960s a car’s owners’ manual had instructions on setting the gap on the spark plugs; today’s warns you not to drink the battery acid.” I thought that was cute but it could be accurate. Oh, not the 1960s reference. I do indeed recall those cars. In fact, I remember a time when on the driver’s door post, in addition to the sticker indicating the recommended air pressure, there was one also noting the recommended carburetor fuel flow, the manual including details how to make those adjustments. No, I was certain the reference to not drinking the battery acid had to have been hyperbole. And then I discovered instructions for how to use book ends.

About a month ago I bought a new easel. Artist easels have been around about as long as book ends. Although they have more parts than bookends, and moving parts to boot, there are not many ways to incorrectly stand an easel. In fact, I can think of no way to get it wrong. Yet, when I opened that box, sitting on top of the collapsed wooden frame was a four-page instruction booklet. I poured over those instructions looking for the secret to paint like Rembrandt but all I found was that I should “secure the painting surface securely.” You would think if they were going to go through the trouble of hiring someone to write operating instructions, they could have at least hired someone who knows how to use a thesaurus.

I get it. The people who make car batteries really don’t want you to crack open the battery case and suck out the “juice” no matter how long you’ve been on the side of the road waiting for service and how thirsty you got while waiting. That’s a dumb idea. And I get that somebody somewhere must have gotten exactly that thirsty, or we wouldn’t be discussing ways to discourage people from drinking battery acid. I don’t get it. Even if you used it wrong, what fate would befall you from the incorrect use of a bookend (a plastic bookend!) that would get a personal injury lawyer kicking his lips?

My warning to all of you, check those scissors, tape, ribbons, and bows before you do any gift wrapping this week for instructions. You don’t want to be the first one at the emergency room trying to explain you did what with your ribbon!

So little of this year is left. Was it as you expected or did it take a different turn? We tell a tale of how unexpected things turn out to be most welcome in the latest Uplift! (It’s just a quick 3 minute read.)