Yesterday’s acupuncture session left me with an excess of energy, as if I’d just discovered the Fountain of Youth. As I pulled my car into the garage, I had this sudden inspiration to finally clean out my tool chest. Recently, my wife and I have been getting the house ready to put on the market, so we’ve slowly but surely been prioritizing, organizing, and discarding unnecessary stuff. We’ve also been gradually passing along some tools to my wife’s daughter, who just bought a home here in Portland. 

When we moved into this house nearly five years ago, a wheel feel off my stand-up Craftsman (I’m certainly not one) tool box. In true “Mike Fashion,” I moved it into a permanent position and propped it up with a rarely used tool to keep it from falling over. It’s stayed that way all this time, while my wife pointed out on several occasions that it needed to be fixed. I shrugged it off time after time, knowing that it would be a hassle, unworthy of my valuable retirement time and hectic schedule. Inside was a collection of useless items accumulated over the years, and I couldn’t repair the wheel without emptying everything out. This always seemed like an exhausting process until yesterday’s unexpected surge of adrenaline. There were tools from my grandfather and probably his father, along with gift gadgets that my parents gave me through the years. I rarely used anything, so it became a convenient catch-all for anything and everything. 

My father never owned a tool box. Every tool in our home belonged to my handy mother. She was always into the latest gadgets, so when it came time for my birthday or Christmas I would unwrap items like a Laser Leveler, Stud Finder, 40-in-1 Swiss Army Knife, or Dremel Rotary Tool. They all went into this massive tool chest that they also gave me and never came out to see the light of day. There was also a 100-piece socket set that I found in the middle of an Austin highway. I took it home and put it in the box in case I might need it. As it turned out, I used it to prop up the broken wheel. Handy!

It got to the point that if I needed a tool, I couldn’t find it in the clutter of the box and would just buy another one. As a result, I have about 30 screwdrivers, 20 pairs of pliers, and 15 adjustable wrenches that are rarely used. If a repair needs to be done anymore, I call in a professional. There have been too many jobs that I’ve butchered through the years that only made the situation worse. The fact is that the propped-up Craftsman in my garage is nothing but a prop for a man who is simply not patient or handy. The tools are there – although a bit rusty – but the skills are not. Sadly, I was reluctant to even fix the box that held the tools. 

I spent about 2 hours yesterday cussing my way through this project that I’ve been putting off for many years. I first removed all the tools, screws, washers, nails, picture hangers, wires, chains, dust, broken parts, tape rolls, paint stirrers, and instruction manuals. I could not, however, get to the bolts that held the wheel without completely removing the bottom drawer. I went to Google for help and watched a video of a guy who had to custom-make a special tool out of a hacksaw blade to remove the drawers from his tool chest. This was far above my pay grade. Unfazed, I blindly fiddled with the drawer runners, concerned that I would cut myself on the sharp metal edges. I used one of my 30 screwdrivers to eventually find a hidden tab that released the drawer. This was a monumental moment after what initially looked like a fruitless task. I then found some bolts and nuts that secured the broken wheel back in place, using one of my 15 wrenches. It somehow seemed so ironic that the only time I’ve used these tools in years was to fix the very box that stored them. 

After the Craftsman finally stood on its own four wheels for the first time since I can remember, I began to organize the tools. I threw out the instruction manuals for equipment that I no longer had in my possession. I then disposed of the unnecessary or broken and stood back to admire my work. All 30 screwdrivers were properly lined up in one drawer, and below them were neat rows of pliers and wrenches. Tape and adhesives were in one corner, while batteries were all now in one convenient place. Plastic bags held assorted small items that were no longer scattered in the dusty bottom. After the conquest was complete, I was ready to take on any project, but knew that it would probably stay that way for the next five years. In fact, I think I can easily survive my remaining years with a hammer, a couple of screwdrivers, a pair of vice-grips, and some picture hangers. I may now just give the chest to my daughter and her new husband before another wheel falls off.