So another summer has come to an end (about a month ago). Yet you ask, what do assembling furniture and walking down steps have in common? Give up? OK, I’ll tell you. They are two things I don’t do well.

Part I: Assembling Furniture
It was September… summer was waning, but the Mets were amazingly vying for a playoff spot in the National League! My cousin, who lives outside Philadelphia, thought it would be fun to go to a game together, as the Phillies were also in contention at the point. We agreed we’d meet at Citizens Bank Park in Philly. Game time, 4 p.m.

Earlier, in late August, we moved our youngest into her first apartment, off-campus at the University of Delaware (Go Blue Hens!). Not sure why it’s “off-campus,” as it’s across the street from the music building (she’s a music major, among other things) and is surrounded by, well, campus! But I digress. The only drawers my daughter had for all her clothes were these two little plastic … I don’t know what you call them. Not dressers, so perhaps, night tables? They have three small drawers each, and my wife said she needed a real dresser. And, as she is wont to do, she ordered one up from the Internet and had it shipped to my daughter. It was one of those that came in long, impossibly heavy boxes — some assembly required. Since my daughter couldn’t begin to know how to put the thing together, we decided we’d stop at Delaware (Go Blue Hens!) to put the dresser together, then head over to Philly for the game. (Mets won, but neither team ultimately played October baseball.)

We got to the apartment, and I opened the boxes. Literally, a thousand parts and pieces. There were 14 2×8″ screws, 28 of those posts that attach the sides to the back, and 28 matching receptacles for the posts that you turn to tighten, and wooden pegs that hold other things together, and clips that I have no idea what they’re for. Also, a somewhat mysterious bag of glue! There were 36 steps to follow to complete the dresser. After two and a half hours, I was on step four. Along the way, I had broken several pieces of pressboard and lost what I hoped were extraneous screws. (One positive note.. I think I lost 9 pounds in sweat!) Thankfully, we were able to pay Amazon to send someone to her apartment to finish what I had started. I’m told he finished the entire rest of the dresser in under an hour. Sure, it’s easy when someone else does the heavy lifting to get you started! But did I get any credit?? No-o-o-o-o.

What follows here is what we writers call an “aside” … not relevant to the story itself, but worth telling. It’s a quick story that everyone but me seems to think is hilarious. We had loaded up my SUV to move her into the apartment near UDel (Go Blue Hens!), which is located on a small dead-end street — the apartment, not the university. #moresloppywriting. Anyway, we parked the truck right outside her door to make carrying things in easier. Well, as Carrie went down to see if there was anything else to take up, she was met by a local representative of the Newark law enforcement community, writing out a summons. (The town is pronounced New-Ark — like Noah’s — in Delaware, and a town with the identical spelling in New Jersey is pronounced ‘Oh, shit!’) Carrie came back inside and yelled to me upstairs, “Doovie, we just got a ticket!” Apparently, the officer claimed we were parked illegally. “How much is the fine,” I asked. And she said, “You don’t really need the details now.” So thoughtful how she didn’t want to aggravate me! Guess there’s a first time for everything.

“How’d we get a ticket?” I asked. “There’s not even a ‘no parking’ sign here. I’m fighting it.” I backed up the car as we were preparing to leave, and noticed large swaths of yellow paint on the pavement. It wasn’t until I backed all the way out that I noticed, in letters writ huge, the words “FIRE ZONE. DO NOT BLOCK ROAD.”

Oh. Guess there WAS a sign. Just not on a pole, where signs should be. I sent in a letter stating that signs should be on poles, and that as an old man, I’m unable to park legally and carry a bed and furniture 700 yards from the nearest metered spot. A week later, I get a letter in the mail (yes, that still happens). Appeal denied.

Part II: Walking Down Steps
So, this summer, we localized the wonderful social bonding time known as “Happy Hour.” After spending leisurely weekend days at the beach, we’d retire to someone’s home for adult refreshment. Nice, right? I’d tell you more about them, but I’m not at liberty to discuss pending litigation. However, against the advice of my legal team, I’ve written this account (which they have graciously edited for me — at $275 an hour). I was leaving {REDACTED} house after a very nice time on their {REDACTED} backyard deck, featuring {REDACTED} cocktails and nice light snacks. We got up to leave, and as I was walking down the steps, I missed the last one and took a nasty fall, badly scraping my left knee. It turns out the last step down from {REDACTED} house is not regulation … it’s off by a good three-eighths of an inch, which caused me to stumble as I descended. After we stanched the bleeding, I began to favor that leg, which led to great pain in my other ankle, which had been badly broken about four decades earlier in a devastating touch football accident. So, as my case winds its way through the court of public opinion, I am sure I will be cleared of all charges, and that my {REDACTED} “friend” will pay the damages.

Or not. {REDACTED} it.