INTRODUCTION # 1 FOR READERS WITH PLACES TO GO, PEOPLE TO SEE, PHONE CALLS TO MAKE, and E-MAILS TO SEND
I built a folding desk, out of wood, which folds flat (standing) to an unobtrusive package ~7 inches deep, 30 inches tall, and 5 feet wide, and opens up to a 24 inch deep by 5 feet wide work area. It works. Please have a look by passing directly to step 1.
INTRODUCTION #2, FOR THE LEISURED CLASS, THE RETIRED, THE UNEMPLOYED, THE VACATIONING, THE CONTEMPLATIVE
Scenario the first, wherein we consider those times we lacked a folding desk, and so we suffered a set-back
How often has it happened to you, that you stumbled across a Situation for which if only you had had a folding desk, benefits would have fallen into your lap like ripe fruit plucked just in time and washed in the sparkling waters of deep-woods Maine once held sacred by pre-European natives and polished against the soft thighs (the entirely proper upper frontal portions thereof) of vestal virgins (of whatever sex and gender pleases you most)? Picture this:
Yeah, I'd hire you right now on the spot for this creative job of planning a multi-generational, interstellar coloniza-tion voyage, and pay you tons of money with full medical benefits and weeks of paid vacation per year, IF ONLY you had brought your own desk with you to the interview, because, as you see, we're short on desks.
Wicked bummer, as they say in my native Massachusetts. You need to carry a folding desk in your vehicle.
Scenario the second, during which inspiration came, then went: went so bad it done gone
On a deserted volcanic island just south of the Philippines, the tropical vines brush your cheeks as you push through the jungle, up the peak. The sweat has been washed from you in one of those sudden showers that sweep through like vague curtains. Ahead, a cliff wall still dripping from the shower seems to glow as the sun emerges and electrifies the clinging droplets, and then....you see the work of a human hand! Initials emerge, 'A.S.' followed by an arrow, and the arrow points into a cave concealed by the angle of buttress-like rock. Your pace quickens, the razor grass rasps your bare shins, leaves red lines that weep their own little glistening droplets, but no matter -- there's a skeleton before you, reclining on a ledge in the cave, and a few rusted masses of steel that were once implements, and one piece of shining gold that once covered the face of a watch. You pick up the gold watch, open its cover like a doctor examining under ban-dages, and there it is, an inscription -- this is the watch of Arne Saknussemm!
It hits you like a flash of tropical sun spearing through the squall -- Verne was writing geography, not fiction. All of a sudden Professor Hartshorn's Geology 106 course -- taken years ago -- all falls into place. He would be so proud of you. A revelation -- you must retrain, re-theorize, offer the world shocking new theories. The slopes of the volcano drift under you in your sliding, tumbling, careening return voyage to the tourist camp. You must start now, a PhD dissertation hovers at the edge of cognition, no, two PhD dissertations, one for Geology, and one for Comparative Literature, since Verne too must be re-visioned.
You arrive at the camp, bruised and disheveled. Fellow adventure tourists offer you bottled flavored water, iced delicacies from the cooler, barbecued exotica carried up the slope by the guides for lunch. The helicopter turbine spools up to whisk you back to the resort (the guides must walk) in time for cocktails, but no, no, you reject this foolishness, you despise a life spent in wanton, arrogant pleasures. You must write, you must start now, but all is lost. You can't start. It is gone. You need a desk to organize your project and map out the location of the cave. You need it now. Where is your folding desk, which can be carried anywhere? You never built it. You n-e-v-e-r built it.
Scenario the third -- a True Story
Your friend works for a very real, innovative high school. They are what the future of urban education should be. They do many things well, but of course, they have no money. Educating teenagers is not considered a valuable enough of an occupation to warrant any attention from the powerful. Classes are small, true, your colleagues are agreeable and full of hope; you could get education done in such a place, but.... teachers don't have their own desks. There's no room besides no money. They migrate from class to class, bringing their stuff with them. Your friend needs a folding desk that would store right under the chalk tray of the blackboard when not used, and quickly fold out to spread out and correct those essays, and just as quickly fold down again to travel to whatever new location the small school will offer next. She needs one, and you build it. For real. It works. Please have a look.
-- photo, completed desk in classroom
Footnote: I just discovered that Automater built something of similar design. Go see: http://www.instructables.com/id/Collapsable-Hobby-Bench/