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 2/3rd 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