Reporting For Domestic Duty

by Lorien E. Menhennett

On Thursday morning, I woke up early with a mission in mind: to put together my mission-style desk that had arrived a few days earlier in the mail (in a flat box, filled with lots of sticks and slabs). I drank my coffee and then used a razor blade to slice open the straps holding the box together. I fished out the instructions and the bags of hardware. I read the first page of the instruction booklet: “You will need a phillips screwdriver to complete this assembly,” it read. I groaned. The only tool I had in that apartment was a hammer, for putting up pictures. Nothing else. But instead of getting bent out of shape – or calling someone and asking for help – I decided I needed to take care of this on my own. I remembered that Home Depot opens at 6 a.m. It was already 7:30. So I slipped on a pair of sandals, patted down my hair, and hopped in my Honda Civic. Later that evening, after a long day of errands, I finally put together the desk, without too much incident. I also installed not one, not two, but three window AC units in my apartment. 

Not that there is anything wrong with asking for help – I certainly needed it carrying those three AC units up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. But when you live on your own, sometimes you have to take things into your own hands – literally – to get the job done.  
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