
I don’t like using tools. I don’t really know the difference between a socket wrench and a monkey wrench. When I’m forced to use a screwdriver, I have to repeatedly tell myself, “Righty tighty, lefty loosey.” I don’t own a stud finder or a level, my hammer is as old as I am, and I have no idea why they are called Allen wrenches.
More to the point, I find Home Depot to be a very unsettling place. Every time I have to ask a question of one of those employees, clad in their Oompa Loompa aprons, I know they are looking at me with utter disdain as I attempt to explain my dilemma using charades. Words don’t suffice, because I am incapable of using appropriate terminology that they would understand. Therefore, they inevitably recommend a 3/4” something-or-other and send me on my way. Before I get into the checkout line, I swing by the battery and lightbulb aisles, because I at least know what I need there and that feeling empowers me. Continue reading “A Useless Tool of a Man”