Tool Time

When I was a kid, I remember my dad spending a Saturday down in the basement organizing his tools and his workbench. When he was done, his workbench was clean and uncluttered, and on the wall was a pegboard with all his tools hung neatly from it. Each tool had its place, and to be sure that each tool would be replaced in the correct spot after their use, Dad had drawn the outline of that tool with one of my crayons. That lasted about a week. One child needed the hammer, probably to crack walnuts, another borrowed the big wrench to hammer on things because the hammer was being used elsewhere, and another took the hand drill to drill holes in things just because it was fun to drill holes. Nothing was put back where it was supposed to go. Within a short time tools were scattered across the workbench and on the wall was the pegboard holding only those tools which were too high up for little hands to reach.

Some years ago I bought a nice metal tool cart. The kind with all the drawers that rolls around on wheels. I stored that tool cart in the hallway closet, and in that tool cart I carefully arranged all my tools so that I would know where to find each one quickly. It actually stayed in good order for a while, but one day I came home to find Mark busily trying to assemble some piece of crap that he had bought. Over in the hallway was my tool cart, drawers open, looking like a burglar had rifled through them. Just as human kind was defined by  the discovery and use of tools, Mark had evolved into a do it yourself tool user. Mark had found my tools. Since then I have walked into the hallway dozens of times to find those drawers open. And over the last few years my carefully arranged tool cart has turned into a free for all. Paint brushes cohabiting with screwdrivers, hammers and electrical parts shoved in together. Worst of all, millions of loose screws, nails, and washers covered the bottom of each drawer. So this past Saturday I spent the whole day cleaning out my tool cart, arranging all the tools neatly and carefully in the drawers, and labeling each drawer so that Mark would know where to replace whatever he had taken out of there. I'm gonna give it about a month, just about a month before I open that hall closet door to find the caulking gun fraternizing with rolls of masking tape in the wrong drawer with the screwdrivers.