In a moment of charitableness, Installation Guy offered his services to the elementary school. The job? Build two bins; one large bin for ‘Lost and Found’ and one smaller bin for ‘Recycled Cereal Box Tops.’ Then, install the bins side by side in the school hallway.
Such a task didn’t seem beyond the scope of our hero’s capabilities; certainly not the installation part. After all, we’re talking about Installation Guy. Please.
Our hero could ill afford at this point in his life to offer his time and services up in an irritable, I mean charitable manner, but he often did, against his better judgment. Going against the grain of his better judgment helped him to hone his fretful mind into a fine tuned thinking machine. What precisely did this machine do? It was hard to say, being as unpredictable as the weather.
The sky was clear. Installation Guy drove to the local home supply store and began scouting for ideas. Feeling that he didn’t have sufficient time to build bins from scratch, he proceeded to the kitchen cabinet department tout de suite. (It was his way of boning up on French. He never knew when his linguistic skills would be called into action.)
He wandered here and there, to and fro, casting his mind about, fishing for ideas. In the first hour he got a few nibbles, but while struggling to reel them in, they got away.
It was getting late in the day. Storm clouds were gathering. It looked like the sky might break. Installation guy was concerned he would have to give it up for the day. He coaxed his fine tuned thinking machine around one, last corner…cast his mind out one, last time…and bingo, like clockwork, two hours later he had a plan.
While packing up his tangled fishing gear, he simultaneously estimated the cost of material. Yes, Installation Guy could multi-tax. He could tax himself in many ways at once. He left the store, searched for his car, found his car, buckled himself in and drove home without incident.
Nearly without incident, that is. His thinking machine suddenly sputtered and ran out of gas. Never-the-less, he found his way, with a little help from a kind stranger. Not that kindness was strange to our hero.
The next day, he submitted the estimate to the school office. They cut him a check. He returned to the store and made the necessary purchases. He wheeled the cabinets and miscellaneous material to the car. One box in this way; one box in that way? No, they didn’t fit. One box in that way, one box in this way? Still, they didn’t fit.
The packing and unpacking continued for a good hour before our charitable, yet feverish fellow stumbled and hit his head upon the perfect geometric solution. Installation Guy was, after all, trained in the scientific method.
Relieved, but unsoiled, he wiped the froth from his brain and the foam from his mouth, buckled himself up and delivered the goods to his apartment. His kitchen would serve as a makeshift shop.
No, Installation Guy didn’t have a truck. No, Installation Guy didn’t have a shop. Yes, Installation Guy had a job to do. When Installation Guy took on a job, he was finished. I mean, he finished it. Well, you know what I mean.
The next day, bright and early, the building began. Measurements were made, dust flew. The noise…the noise. More measurements, more dust, more measurements. Did I mention the noise? More dust, more measurements. More…well you get the idea.
By day’s end, the trim was cut and glued into place. In the beginning, a plan had been conceived. When the dust finally settled, a plan had been executed. Our hero stepped back to assess the product. He was satisfied. It was good.
Day had dawned. Noon had come and gone. Dusk lie just around the corner, waiting to give new meaning to evening.
He packed the bins into the car, with ease this time. After all, even heroes can learn. He drove to the local hardware store, consulted knowledgeable Hardware Guy and purchased screws and anchors to anchor the bins into the concrete blocks that elementary school walls are inevitably constructed from.
The next day, after school began, he set up in the hallway. With the bins in place against the wall, he drilled holes in their backside. The drill left marks on the concrete blocks where he needed to drill holes in the wall. He moved the bins away from the wall, set up his masonry drill and drilled holes in the concrete blocks where they were marked. He slipped the anchors into the holes. That was that.
The noise was over, the dust had settled. He cleaned up the concrete dust, moved the bins back into place, lined up the holes in the bins with the holes in the wall, shimmed the bottom of the bins so they set level and plumb and square, slipped the machine screws through the holes in the bin into the waiting, receptive arms of the anchors and began to cinch them up.
The installation had been a cinch. No problems. No problems at all. No…wait…maybe, one problem. The machine screws were not cinching up. No matter how much he screwed, or how hard he pushed, no matter how well he lined up the holes, the job had suddenly failed to be a cinch.
His goal had been to slip in and slip out of the school quickly and quietly so as not to disturb the studying going on. He’d thought that the noise and the dust for the day were over. Alas, they had just begun.
He removed the screws, backed the bins away from the wall and scrutinized the anchors. He stared at them curiously. He glared at them impatiently. His visual antics had little effect. The anchors were what they were; unclogged, open, receptive, ready channels.
Nothing was out of order. He set the bins back in place, lined up the holes and once again began to screw the screws into the anchors.
Curiosity and impatience had failed him once again. No luck. No coupling. The bins seemed destined to remain unattached to the walls. They were indifferent to their plight. Installation Guy was not.
This was to be a marriage, even if he had to bring out the shotgun. But he didn’t have a shot gun to bring out. Nor did he have an anchoring gun. He did have concrete screws however. But he’d been assured by Hardware Guy that anchors were the better way to go.
So anchors away, and suddenly we’re at sea again and slowly Installation Guy is getting green at the gills. Swarms of kids keep coming and going through the hallways. It’s nearly lunch time.
He drills new holes in the bins and marks the walls, moves the bins, drills new holes in the wall; this time a little more carefully. Maybe he thinks, half heartedly, half wishfully, the holes are slightly big, and the anchors are spinning in the wall. Secretly, he confesses to knowing better.
On and on through the day, through the noise, through the dust, through the baffled stares of administration staff and teachers, Installation Guy toils, he sweats, he mutters beneath his breath. He would have muttered out loud, if it weren’t an obvious oxymoron. He would have no part of such things. But that’s another matter.
When all seemed black, or at least concrete dust gray, our hero was thrown clear of his toil by a moment of pure despair. Upon returning to the scene of the grime, he experienced a flash from the past.
It suddenly occurred to him that the anchors which Hardware Guy had given him were lag anchors. Lag anchors are threaded to receive lag bolts. Hardware Guy had given him machine bolts.
Was it possible that Hardware Guy had led him astray? Installation Guy knew what a lag was. Why had that knowledge not kicked in? Was he foolish enough to have placed his trust in the appearance of professionalism once again? It was beginning to seem so.
Quickly changing gears, Installation Guy moved the bins, removed the lag shields from the wall and positioned the bins back into place for what he knew was the last time.
He pulled two concrete screws from his stock, pre-drilled two holes through the bins and the concrete walls simultaneously, changed bits and sunk the concrete screws. A cinch. Take your best shot and move in for the rebound. A change of gears, and two minutes later the job was done. The bins were secured.
Whether they needed to be secured remains unclear.
What’s clear, is that our guy had a job to do, and he did it. Recycling could commence, posthaste, no waste. What was lost could now be found.
Installation guy cleaned up, moved out and moved on with fresh insight; no blood, no sweat, no tears, no pay check. He’d once again been empowered to embrace certain knowledge, rather than dwell in the hellish hallway of appearance.