Reality Hits Unhandy Man Like an Oak Plank

There are some fortunate folks who, regardless of the economy, will always have jobs. Included in this lucky bunch are police and corrections officers, anybody linked to health care, hospitals or nursing homes, and education, and handymen, OK, handypersons.
The New Year may bring dark times for everybody else, but the above bunch will ride the economic storm like a cork in a hurricane-whipped ocean.
On any trip to Lowe’s for metal closet shelving or anything else, I try to look like I know what I’m doing there, but fail.
I have a sign written clearly across my forehead as I enter that “toy shop for grown men”: UNHANDY MAN. If I had to work as a contractor, my personal physician, Dr. Andrew Drake, would smile; because I would finally break 200 pounds, maybe even tip the scales at 185 or less, because I’d be starving.
My nephew, Dan, who works in one of those favored above jobs that doesn’t have layoffs, is also very handy with tools. He was always gifted that way. As a child, I envied his love of tools.
He can make anything, do anything with tools, and make it look easy.
I, on the other hand, can make something very simple, like measuring and sawing, turn into virtual disasters.
My recent foray into our closets to install wire shelves convinced me never to audition for “This Old House.” That crew can take a 200-year-old haunted mansion, and within a week, the place looks like a Trump casino penthouse, all without pain or suffering, and no wasted lumber or screws.
I have personally been responsible for the hollow wall anchor industry turning a profit. Nothing in our house has a solid wall, absolutely nothing.
Out of four closets, over several weekends, I hit one, count it, ONE stud. Everything else required those nifty little contraptions that require a hole drilled, tapped in, and then a screw placed in it to spread the arms so that there is something to hold up your shelf.
Placement of bi-fold doors on those closets, which looked like a snap in the store, quickly turned into a “Let Dan do it” when we got home.
They needed some wood taken off because our closets are not today’s standard sizes.
He did an amazing job on them. I was envious, but tried not to let it show.
I can understand why GPS devices are a big hit with men who drive to unknown places. Instead of listening to their wives tell them which road to take, then fighting after they make a wrong turn, GPS devices gently advise without threat of “I told you so” or “Now, we’ll really be late!”
No such devices are available in places like Lowe’s. We, shall I say, “unknowing” males (females are entirely different, not afraid to ask) cannot form the word “Help!” when in a home improvement store. To ask for help in such a place is to risk ridicule in the eyes of burly contractor types who drive beefy three-quarter ton pickup trucks covered with mud.
Imagine how much nerve I would have to muster up to verbalize, “Would you use a 5/8-inch anchor bolt, or would you go ¾ inch?” No, such questions are not asked of other men.
One does not ask a guy in the hardware aisle if he like’s his Makita drill, or if he would rather have bought a Porter Cable drill.
It would be easier to ask if he loved his spouse. See what I mean? Some things you just can’t ask a stranger.
Most other men, I firmly believe, took wood and metal shop classes, and thus they gained basic knowledge of tools and working with their hands.
I took neither of those classes, believing them of no value to an architect, which is what I planned to become until life got in the way.
So here I sit, the Herald’s managing editor. I possess life and death power over Spout Offs and what stories Cape May County reads daily on the Web site and weekly on Page One. You expect I could ask for help about rudimentary do-it-yourself projects in a home improvement store. Not on your life.
Therefore, if the future turns sour, and I’m out of a job, I’ll have to cut grass or shovel ice down on the docks because I’ll never hang a shingle as a handyman.
I’ve tried my hand at screen repairs, but the spline always comes loose mid summer and bugs get in. I’ve replaced broken deck planks and steps, but they stand witness to my lack of carpenter skills.
I absolutely refuse to touch plumbing. It throws chills up my spine like a black snake in the shed. Locks? I let my brother in law, Bob, do them, that’s his trade.
Carpets? Did that once, and it was less fun than a rainy weekend in a motel room.
Painting? My wife loves it, so why should I steal her pleasure? Same thing goes for wall paper, ugh, sticky stuff all over your hands, oh no.
Come to think about it, could hefty carpenters run a newspaper or Web site? Could just any handyman wield a camera and come up with a decent photo? Would they tolerate a four-hour planning board meeting? Do they know the difference between libel and slander?
That’s why everyone has different skills. Not all can be carpenters…or a newspaper reporters. Thank goodness