Lessons in a Puzzle

1,000 pieces. That’s what the puzzle box said. I bought it. I’d try this puzzle thing.

Last time I was around a puzzle was 2-years ago. I was at a birthday party and the puzzle was 2/3^rd complete. The remaining pieces were nicely laid out, face up. Several folks were standing over the puzzle, chatting, while scanning and trying to fit pieces in. I hit 3-clean picks in a row: snap, snap, snap. It was satisfying. “I’m a natural at this,” I thought.

I figured I’d buy a puzzle and try it at home. Lots of folks like puzzles. Maybe I’m one of them.

A thousand-piece puzzle is not a good place to start, if you aren’t sure you love puzzles.

It takes a long time to turn a thousand puzzle pieces over. They cover a table—and overflow it—putting that table out-of-service for anything else. They also fall–keenwaaaa–onto the floor. All. The. Time.

A $2 puzzle at the thrift store is not a good deal; it has hidden costs. I suspect my 1,000-piece puzzle only has 847 pieces. Or maybe 921. Even if it has 999 pieces, do I want to end up with a puzzle that’s missing one, finalizing piece?

For at least one persona, that’s a definite “no.”

Buying it held such promise.

It pleased several internal characters: the one who likes a deal; the one interested in trying something new; the environmentalist buying used; the one who imagined a mindfulness benefit to putting a puzzle together.

It displeased a different character. One who lacks patience. Who finds this current puzzle situation stupid, given the very strong likelihood pieces are missing; who’s annoyed the table is too small and the puzzle-picture can’t be seen because the box is holding pieces that didn’t fit on the table and the cover is upside-down.

This was not a fair test to figure out if I like puzzles or not. It was a failure set-up.

My inner-environmentalist may get pissed, but I’m tossing this thing.

Next puzzle I’ll start smaller. And…buy new.

 

Photo source: Walk the Goats

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