Kerboom! The camouflage form ruptures out of the partially-opened box like
one of those snake deals that explodes out of a trick canister.
From a cardboard box approximately 24 inches square across and two inches thick,
the tent sort of thing bursts to its 56″ height. It sits on its 56″
base and becomes a hunting blind.
Kerboom! The camouflage form ruptures out of the partially-opened box like
one of those snake deals that explodes out of a trick canister.
From a cardboard box approximately 24 inches square across and two inches thick,
the tent sort of thing bursts to its 56″ height. It sits on its 56″
base and becomes a hunting blind.
Okay, so it is a toy. A grownups toy but still a toy. And I love it.
Ive wanted one since my eyes first fell upon this kind of contraption
in the hunters wish book. Finally, the sporting goods store got a shipment
of them, and I gladly laid down my monthly allowance for one.
The trip home seems unbearably long. The box begs to be opened.
Immediately upon arrival home, the box is taken outside and partially opened
before it explodes.
Joy fills my heart. Not only do I have my toy, it works. It has neat little
windows and a door that zippers open and shut. There is plenty of room inside
it for a stool and shooting stick. It could even cover a refrigerator, if one
could be carried to the field.
The camouflage pattern will make this invisible to all game. Why, sitting there
in the yard, I can hardly see it myself. It will help keep rain out and fight
the cold in winter. And in tropical Louisiana, it will be a magnificent sweatbox.
Okay, time to put up the toy, Mother, I mean the wife, says. It is past my
bedtime.
The torn and slightly scattered box the blind came in promised it folds back
up to its 24 by 24 by 2 inch pre-explosion size. It just doesnt say how.
The box doesnt say how, and I cant figure out how, not having completed
my degree work in the physics of folding of the weird.
The next morning, the bulky contraption is loaded into the truck and brought
to work. “You folks like puzzles,” I say as I toss the tent-like thing
into the middle of the floor. “Figure out how to get this (pointing to
the tent) into this (pointing to what is left of the box).”
Late that afternoon, Lacy Thompson brings the box to me. The box is wrapped
with yards of clear packing tape, but the tent is in the box. “I would
be very careful when I open the box if I were you,” is all he says.
Finally, I call the sporting goods store that is two hours away and explain
my dilemma. The young man says he will get back with me on it. I take his name
and social security number to make sure.
Ten minutes later, “David” calls back, to my absolute amazement.
“Mr. Clayton, found your problem,” he says. “Somehow the carrying
case was left out of your box. The instructions on getting the blind back into
the case are on the carrying case. We will ship it out today so you can get
it tomorrow.” I retake his name and social security number for emphasis
and, this time, also get the name of his firstborn.
The next day, the carrying case arrives. The instructions give simple steps
that I follow closely and on the first try, the tent folds neatly into the perfect
size for the carrying case.
If only life were so simple. So many times we open what seem like harmless
packages by gossiping or saying something we should not have said. And suddenly
the matters explode into something beyond what we ever could have imagined.
Realizing our mistakes, we quickly start trying to stuff our remarks back to
where they came from, but they just will not go. They are there, huge, often
growing, and nothing can be done about removing them. We know now we should
have read the instructions that say, “Do not open,” but it is too
late. The damage is done, and time cannot go back.
My wife smiles now that I can get the hunting blind back into its carrying
case. She says maybe now I can get the grandkids tent we bought the same
day back into its box.