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.