The Electric Drill…
Some of us seem to be born with the gift of knowing how to use tools, fix things, do things around the house or workplace. I am cursed to be one of those. Others are not so lucky, never really understanding which end of the screwdriver to hit the nail with. My neighbor, Fred, was one of those.
It was about 1968 in Bethel Park, PA, a suburb full of families whose bread winners, almost all daddies in those days, commuted into Pittsburgh to work for companies with household names you probably know … Westinghouse, US Steel, Mellon Bank, Alcoa, PPG, Rockwell, and others. I was an engineer who worked for one of those. My neighbor Fred was in sales with a major insurance company — Travelers or Prudential, somebody like that. Damn nice guy a couple of years older than me, and a fun family. We and a couple of other young couples in the neighborhood grilled out, had bring-a-dish dinners, played bridge, and kept the local beer distributor’s profit margin comfortably in the black.
One day Fred showed up at the door asking if he could borrow my electric drill. Every guy on the block knew that I had a workshop full of tools. I retrieved it from my shop in the basement while Fred chit-chatted with my then wife. When handing it over to him I asked what he was doing, and he told me that Carol wanted some shelves in the laundry room. So off he went to fulfill his honey-do obligations.
Half an hour later, Fred was back at the door, drill in hand. I said, “That was a quick job.” He looked at me, head cocked to one side, and sheepishly said, “Is there something that’s supposed to go in here?”, p
ointing to the business end of the drill. As I looked at him in puzzlement, trying to figure out what he meant, he added, “You know — something to make a hole with.” It was all I could do to choke back my laughter as I replied, “You mean a drill bit?” “Well, I guess so, whatever that thing is called.” He didn’t have a clue on what size bit he needed, so I grabbed the entire rack of about 3 dozen bits, from 1/64″ up to 3/8″. As soon as he saw them, he said, “Yeah, I think that’s what I need, but I don’t know what size.” “You got any cold beer in the fridge?”, I asked. To which he replied something like, “Is the Pope Catholic?” So I said, “Come on. You open the beer and I’ll put up the shelves for you.”
He was relieved to have some help, and Carol was happy to get the shelves up. Of course, Fred had bought the wrong brackets — and anchors — and screws — and shelves. But with several trips back to my basement workshop, and several beers later, everyone was happy. Remembering the whole incident some 40 years later, I still chuckle over the expression on Fred’s face that second trip to my door. This reminds me of an adage often repeated by one of my favorite authors, Jerry Pournelle, who was as good with his techie column in Byte magazine as he is masterful at crafting science fiction stories of worlds far away in time and space. He often advised readers of his monthly Chaos Manor column in Byte:
If you don’t know what you’re doing, you better know someone who does.
13 Comments so far
Isn’t drinking while drilling a bit (no pun) risky?
Well-told, sir.
I fall into some sort of gray area here. I can, with effort, figure out how to accomplish some “handy man” stuff, but any time I have to tackle one of these tasks I haven’t done before, I get nervous (actually, this would apply to anything new, I’m such a chicken). Last week I undertook to repair a toilet paper holder. The little shaft thingy kept coming out, and it appeared the set screw had gone missing. So, off to Home Depot (which is the nearest hardware store for 97.323% of Americans now, it seems. Purchased a package of two small set screws (ha!, I took one from another fixture so I’d get the right size). Back at the shack, I stretched out on the floor with the new screw and my trusty Allen wrench (how I had one the right size is beyond my understanding). I could not get the verdamte screw to go in the little hole, so I laid my head comfortably on the floor between the crapper and the little cabinet and pondered the matter.
Aha! Mr. Handyman figured it out (but, of course, you’ll note that Mr. H. didn’t figure it out at the beginning). The old set screw was still there, it was screwed in just far enough to be out of sight, but not far enough to go in the little gap on the thingy to hold it in place. So, let’s recap: removed screw from other fixture, drove to Home Depo, located someone who knew how to find the screws I sought, paid up, drove home, re-assembled the fixture I’d pirated the sample screw from, spent time lying on the bathroom floor, and succeeded in making the repair (which amounted to rotating the existing screw a few times), and stashed the new screws where I’d always (translated: never) be able to locate them if necessary.
Tim Allen would be proud of me.
When I lived in Iowa my neighbor was a psychologist. He knocked on my door one day and asked me if I would help him unload a Sears central air conditioning system from his car. I won’t make a long story out of this but I ended up installing the whole thing for him. Of course I then automatically became his maintenance man.
I like men who know how to do things although once in awhile take pride in figuring it out for myself– if forced.
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Being the tool-handy-and-knowledgeable neighbor is akin to being the neighbor/friend who owns a pick-up truck.
They are always busy with other folk’s projects.
One time I called a local farm implement museum curator and had him take the placards off all the tool exhibits in one room. Then I took my motorcycle club there and they had to try to identify each (16th-19th century) tool or at least explain what it was for/how it was used. Best score? 47%. My score 15%
If we were able to visit the futere (say 100 years), I doubt whether we could identify half the tools. Sanity check: would yout greatgrandmother be able to explain a CD? an iPod? a PC? just by looking at them?
Your story reminded me of the friendship bonding that went on in our neighborhood 30+ years ago when my husband attempted to pour a concrete curb around the flowerbeds. He required the help of a civil engineer neighbor who taught at the local university…actually made his students frame out, pour and smooth a patio in his own backyard. The best part of your story is that we have all in some way needed the help of a neighbor and mostly found them willing. It’s a wonderful human trait.
P.S. what’s with the new security code? How do I qualify to post here? Are we limited to once a week?
I have always been handy with tools..well, not always.but I worked at a home improvement store, hard ware store,paint etc..and you learn..Plus I always did all of my own car work as I never could afford to take it to a mechanic..I taught my sons, daughter and 2 of the granddaughters to change the oil, tires, plugs etc. on their car..when they said they couldn’t do it cause that was a mans job I informed them that until they actually saw a man change the oil in his car using his dick, anything he could do they could do…
I have become the go to tenant when the manintance man can’t be found…
… brother, you should have been around to watch me put in that sink a few weeks ago….. you’d have busted a gut laughing…..
I am the proud owner of my very own set of tools including a cordless drill and know how to use them. When I was learning to drive, my mother backed the car out of the garage and showed me how to change a tire and then made me do it because “there won’t always be a man around to do it for you”. Mother was wrong — I may have started changing a tire but I never finished changing one! lol Now I just call AAA.
That is too funny Kay. Last summer there was a large breasted blond woman with a flat tire on the highway near my office. There were police from 3 different agencies stopped to change the tire for her. If it would have been me,if they even stopped, the best they would have offered was to call AAA for me.
I can’t believe how lazy & clueless people have become over the years regarding simple tasks like faucet leaks & light switch replacement. Using an electric drill was as common as taking out the garbage when I was a kid. 65 now. There wasn’t much I couldn’t repair back then & there still isn’t much I can’t at least diagnose if I can’t do the actual repair.