For 2 whole minutes I struggled and swore at the bed frame.
You see, about an hour earlier, I’d heard the reluctant voice of my movers: “Uh, ma’am?” Setting aside that it still weirds me out to be “ma’am” to anyone, it’s never good to hear that tone; usually that means your favorite cherished breakable item has met an untimely death.
In this case, it was just my box spring, too big and unwieldy to fit up the stairs in my 3rd floor Boston walkup. “If you have a saw, you can just cut it in half and then it’ll go up the stairs, no problem.”
Beg your pardon…If I have a saw?
Should I really be expected to have a saw? I mean, I know I’m a bad ass bachelorette who can handle stuff, but really, a saw?
I don’t have one, for the record.
So the box spring went into storage, and I swore at the bed frame that would follow since, after all, no box spring means no need for a bed frame. I struggled for a while to unscrew the nut from the bolt, to no avail, finally giving up and going on an epic quest in my disaster area/apartment for my trusty Craftsman Robo Grip. I found it, clamped it on the bolt, and voila.
Since I moved to this new city and new place, I feel like my entire life has been the search for the proper tool. The right card holder to keep me from losing my bus pass (no luck yet). The right hat for a short hairdo that gets destroyed by normal hats (found that one!) The right boots to see me through slush, ice and snow (got’ em). The right coat to keep me warm in single digit temps without turning me into Stay Puff Marshmallow Jodi (thought I’d found it, but alas, no). The right shelf to hold my bathroom stuff, the right messenger bag to hold my life (aka keys, purse, phone, the occasional bag of dog food), the right shovel to clear the street for my POD (victory there!).
The search for these tools is both tiring and exhilarating. When you find one, it feels good. And then you have nights like tonight, when, despite having the right tools, I feel spent; back aching, fingers callused and tingly, eyes bleary. Some of you will recognize this feeling; it’s the post-IKEA furniture feeling, when you find yourself staring at the two remaining wood pegs and wondering where they were supposed to go, while your beautiful finished chest of drawers winks at you from the corner. Or you wish you could draw so you could redo that damn graphic that says you will frown if you build your furniture alone. Setting aside that you did frown a great deal, and it would have been much easier with two people, that graphic just pisses your independent self off. Plus, you got it DONE, all by yourself. Take that, graphic.
But back to tools.
Tee hee. Tools is such a great word. I can’t have written a blog post with this many references to the word tool to not giggle like the teenager I used to be.
The eternal quest for the proper tool is part of every woman’s life. Hey! Get your mind out of the gutter, my peeps. I was talking about that 2nd set of hands, that partner who, I hope, would help out with furniture, you know, wield the screwdriver…ok, I’m sorry. Getting a little punchy over here.
Anyway, here’s to the search for the perfect tool to make life easier, whatever project you’re working on. Here’s to the cavemen who invented tools back in the day. And to the defeat of IKEA furniture. I feel the need to dance around my chest of drawers a la Tom Hanks in Cast Away – “Look what I have created!” – or at least take a victory march…to the fridge for a beer.
2 thoughts on “The proper tool for the job”
Tools are an exquisite bonus to being a grownup, don’t you think? And trust me – having a partner does NOT mean you will have the right tool for any job… or, at least, the tool will not be put back in the perfect spot that you spent hours on a weekend organizing and setting up specifically to hold said tool. Or so I’ve heard.
Don’t you love when you organize yourself so much you can’t find your tools? That happened to me last night…where the HELL did I put the hammer? 🙂