Blind Adventures
Last night, my friend Tim and I received a call from two girls in distress. You see, Cait and Kathy were in a bind with their blinds, and Andrew deferred them to us. They could not install them without the help of men.
Burly, muscular, tool-wielding men.
So we traveled to their house to see what we could do to help them out.
The first step was to remove the bracket which they had installed in the soft drywall of their window frame. For you see, while these girls had the foresight to buy a tool set from a hardware store [thereby earning the admiration a salesman], they overlooked the important acquisition of a stud finder. Screwing things into drywall is not what contractors would call "a good idea," seeing as how the mounting would be insecure.
I can't blame the ladies, really, because it's not like most windows are made out of drywall. Most are made out of wood. But I digress.
We unscrewed the one bracket they had gotten up, and replaced it on a secure part of the wall [with much grunting from Tim, who was in possession of the Philip's head].
We leveled, measured, and marked where the other end bracket for the first pair of blinds was to go. But the wall was very stubborn, and would have nothing to do with our endeavor. So Tim says to the wall, "Fine. Be that way. I'll get a drill!"
The wall apparently thought we were bluffing, but alas, we were not.
We set off on an adventure to claim a power drill from EIP, Tim and Cait's [and my former] workplace.
It must be noted that the night prior, EIP had been broken into and almost all of the computers were stolen. So we took our keys, because breaking a window wasn't a viable option.
We tried to get to the front door, but there was a jungle of spider webs obstructing our path. I got web in the face and Tim got web on his clothes, which to him are much more important than my face. I know this because I said, "Oh [something], I've got spider web all over my face!" and he responded, "Don't complain! I've got it all over my clothes!"
Thanks for the support, Tim.
The front door was proving to be an impasse, so we went around to the side door where we were met with more success. We got in, found a light switch, and found a drill. The only problem was that the drill had a bit stuck in it which would not budge on its own.
You see, the chuck was stuck. Chuck is the part of a drill which holds the "bit" or head in place. It has been said, "If the chuck is stuck, then you're pluck out of luck."
You've never heard it said? I have. I just said it.
Tim thought about this stuck-chuck problem, and hard. He came up with a solution.
One which proves to be the slightest bit reckless, but effective.
He stuck the chuck into a vice grip and turned the drill on.
Oh, it worked. The drill bit came out--flying out, actually. It is a good thing we were both standing on the un-chucked side of the drill, because I might not be telling you this otherwise.
With an unstuck chuck, we got ready to exit the premises. But not before a security guard stopped his truck in front of us with our un-stuck chuck, between us and freedom, in the door which we left wide open.
He shone his light upon us, and lo, we looked guilty. For we stand there, covering our faces to protect our eyes from the shining, all garbed in dark clothes and holding EIP property.
I was incredibly tempted to just yell "RUN FOR IT! I'LL DISTRACT HIM!"
I opened my mouth.
But Tim said, "We work here. I'm Tim __g___."
The security guard said, "Oh yeah! I recognize you two!" He looks at me. "You were helping them move in June, right?"
No.
"No."
Why didn't I just say yes?
Mr. Security became suspicious again.
"Who's the owner?"
Tim responded: "Duncan _a_______."
That clicked with the security guard, and he left us there.
In retrospect, one might wonder where this particular security guy was two nights ago, when EIP really was being robbed instead of last night when it just looked like it. But more of the story awaits you, if you have been of the nature to read thus far.
Armed with a drill, we returned to the girls' house. Tim walked over to the wall, which looked disappointed with us, but helpless.
Or so we thought.
Tim employed my idea of drilling the screw into the wall without the bracket to make it easier to screw in a second time. He turned on the drill.
He applied even pressure to the screw.
The screw went in.
The wall came out.
Yes, the wall came out. A thin layer of wood separated from the true wall all the way up to the ceiling, much to our surprise and chagrin.
Tim said something, and then unscrewed the nail.
In turn, the layer returned to its proper place as part of the wall, as if it were on a fulcrum.
We thought, and Tim told me to apply firm pressure to the layer while he drilled the screw in a second time.
I was apprehensive. "What if the drill slips?" I ask frankly.
"Oh, it won't slip!" he assured me.
I placed my hands on the wall and applied pressure.
Tim began to drill.
The drill slipped and made a little hole about a half-inch from my hand.
I looked at Tim, but he was intent on not looking back.
He drilled again, and again the drill slipped. This time I felt the bit brush ever-so-gently against my skin.
But I trusted Tim so much that I kept on pressing firmly against the wall.
We finally get the second and third brackets mounted, and the blind installed. Then Cait looked appreciatively at us and said, "Now for the other one!"
Tim looked back at her, with just the slightest signs of fatigue. It was clear that he was done blind-bracketing for the day. But he was happy to insist that the girls try while he laid on the bed and consistently poked them in the heads with a tape measure, and decided that Cait and Kathy were 85 and 74 inches tall, respectively.
While the second blind never got up, we did get to eat cookies and see a wall come away from its proper place and learn how to get a chuck unstuck and how to look very guilty while being totally innocent and find out that Tim's clothes matter more than my face.
All in all, it was a wonderful night.
Too bad Andrew was in bed.
[his loss]
brian!
Burly, muscular, tool-wielding men.
So we traveled to their house to see what we could do to help them out.
The first step was to remove the bracket which they had installed in the soft drywall of their window frame. For you see, while these girls had the foresight to buy a tool set from a hardware store [thereby earning the admiration a salesman], they overlooked the important acquisition of a stud finder. Screwing things into drywall is not what contractors would call "a good idea," seeing as how the mounting would be insecure.
I can't blame the ladies, really, because it's not like most windows are made out of drywall. Most are made out of wood. But I digress.
We unscrewed the one bracket they had gotten up, and replaced it on a secure part of the wall [with much grunting from Tim, who was in possession of the Philip's head].
We leveled, measured, and marked where the other end bracket for the first pair of blinds was to go. But the wall was very stubborn, and would have nothing to do with our endeavor. So Tim says to the wall, "Fine. Be that way. I'll get a drill!"
The wall apparently thought we were bluffing, but alas, we were not.
We set off on an adventure to claim a power drill from EIP, Tim and Cait's [and my former] workplace.
It must be noted that the night prior, EIP had been broken into and almost all of the computers were stolen. So we took our keys, because breaking a window wasn't a viable option.
We tried to get to the front door, but there was a jungle of spider webs obstructing our path. I got web in the face and Tim got web on his clothes, which to him are much more important than my face. I know this because I said, "Oh [something], I've got spider web all over my face!" and he responded, "Don't complain! I've got it all over my clothes!"
Thanks for the support, Tim.
The front door was proving to be an impasse, so we went around to the side door where we were met with more success. We got in, found a light switch, and found a drill. The only problem was that the drill had a bit stuck in it which would not budge on its own.
You see, the chuck was stuck. Chuck is the part of a drill which holds the "bit" or head in place. It has been said, "If the chuck is stuck, then you're pluck out of luck."
You've never heard it said? I have. I just said it.
Tim thought about this stuck-chuck problem, and hard. He came up with a solution.
One which proves to be the slightest bit reckless, but effective.
He stuck the chuck into a vice grip and turned the drill on.
Oh, it worked. The drill bit came out--flying out, actually. It is a good thing we were both standing on the un-chucked side of the drill, because I might not be telling you this otherwise.
With an unstuck chuck, we got ready to exit the premises. But not before a security guard stopped his truck in front of us with our un-stuck chuck, between us and freedom, in the door which we left wide open.
He shone his light upon us, and lo, we looked guilty. For we stand there, covering our faces to protect our eyes from the shining, all garbed in dark clothes and holding EIP property.
I was incredibly tempted to just yell "RUN FOR IT! I'LL DISTRACT HIM!"
I opened my mouth.
But Tim said, "We work here. I'm Tim __g___."
The security guard said, "Oh yeah! I recognize you two!" He looks at me. "You were helping them move in June, right?"
No.
"No."
Why didn't I just say yes?
Mr. Security became suspicious again.
"Who's the owner?"
Tim responded: "Duncan _a_______."
That clicked with the security guard, and he left us there.
In retrospect, one might wonder where this particular security guy was two nights ago, when EIP really was being robbed instead of last night when it just looked like it. But more of the story awaits you, if you have been of the nature to read thus far.
Armed with a drill, we returned to the girls' house. Tim walked over to the wall, which looked disappointed with us, but helpless.
Or so we thought.
Tim employed my idea of drilling the screw into the wall without the bracket to make it easier to screw in a second time. He turned on the drill.
He applied even pressure to the screw.
The screw went in.
The wall came out.
Yes, the wall came out. A thin layer of wood separated from the true wall all the way up to the ceiling, much to our surprise and chagrin.
Tim said something, and then unscrewed the nail.
In turn, the layer returned to its proper place as part of the wall, as if it were on a fulcrum.
We thought, and Tim told me to apply firm pressure to the layer while he drilled the screw in a second time.
I was apprehensive. "What if the drill slips?" I ask frankly.
"Oh, it won't slip!" he assured me.
I placed my hands on the wall and applied pressure.
Tim began to drill.
The drill slipped and made a little hole about a half-inch from my hand.
I looked at Tim, but he was intent on not looking back.
He drilled again, and again the drill slipped. This time I felt the bit brush ever-so-gently against my skin.
But I trusted Tim so much that I kept on pressing firmly against the wall.
We finally get the second and third brackets mounted, and the blind installed. Then Cait looked appreciatively at us and said, "Now for the other one!"
Tim looked back at her, with just the slightest signs of fatigue. It was clear that he was done blind-bracketing for the day. But he was happy to insist that the girls try while he laid on the bed and consistently poked them in the heads with a tape measure, and decided that Cait and Kathy were 85 and 74 inches tall, respectively.
While the second blind never got up, we did get to eat cookies and see a wall come away from its proper place and learn how to get a chuck unstuck and how to look very guilty while being totally innocent and find out that Tim's clothes matter more than my face.
All in all, it was a wonderful night.
Too bad Andrew was in bed.
[his loss]
brian!
posted by brian at
11:21 PM
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