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Herb Benham: New table legs might cost an arm or two

BY HERB BENHAM, Californian staff writer
e-mail: hbenham@bakersfield.com | Tuesday, Jul 15 2008 5:45 PM

Last Updated: Thursday, Jul 17 2008 10:29 AM

The first thing I did when I tried to fix the picnic table was drill my left hand. I was off to a good start. The way I was going, along with making the table new legs, it would have made sense to carve myself a new arm.

The picnic table was wobbly and needed repair.

Good thing I’m almost a master carpenter. I have a tool belt, work boots and wood.

The table, square and green, had been given to us by my parents. It was at least 25 years old. I hate to give up on a picnic table because of the picnic memories.

Who doesn’t like a project? I dragged out the cordless drill and cordless saw. My life is cordless. I am not plugged in at all. My new album is cordless.

Then I drilled my hand. I wasn’t trying to drill my hand, the idea was to drill a hole for the support pieces for the leg.

However, I was holding the piece of wood in my hand when it started to spin like the PG&E meter and the next thing I knew I had drilled my left index finger.

That hurt. I was bleeding. I was dumb.

I wrapped a garage rag around it. I needed a beach towel. Better yet, a brain.

I took the legs off the table. They were mostly rotted. I looked at the leg configuration and decided I could do that. I was almost a cabinet maker. This wasn’t a picnic table — I was in the fine furniture business.

I went to Lowe’s to buy some wood. I lifted the two-by-fours off the rack looking for a couple that were not warped. I eyeballed them like a drill sergeant would a new recruit.

At home, I took out the cordless saw. The good news was that I did not cut off my hand. Or my foot. Or the tail on the blind dog.

I cut the legs to length. Then I screwed in the massive bolts in order to give the table the strength that it needed in case John Papadakis came to dinner and wanted to perform a Greek dance on the table.

These bolts were large. So large that after they were screwed in, four inches of steel stuck out on the other side. This wasn’t a problem, unless a guest hit one with his or her knees, in which case he or she would probably require stitches and a knee replacement.

I cut off the excess boltage. This table was coming together. I tightened up everything and added some extra screws for support.

It was go time. We flipped it over in order to see if the legs would do the job that they were signed up to do, which was to hold up the table.

I took 10 steps back and looked at my creation. What a creation it was. The legs were sticking out at different angles. The table looked like a June bug that had spent the night on its back and was in the throes of rigor mortis.

The legs weren’t straight. I’m not even sure they were the same size. The table would be fine as long as it was set up on the side of a mountain. Would a table cloth hide crooked the legs? It would have to be a long tablecloth. This was no time for a miniskirt.

I went to Floyd's for more bolts and sandpaper. I cut my hand two more times. This was beginning to look like the first scene in “In Cold Blood” or a busy day at Houchin Blood Bank.

I had a ball. With or without my limbs.

Opinions expressed are those of Herb Benham, not The Californian.