Jebadiah Dyer
So, when my parents were on vacation, I had to feed their cats. Out of curiosity, I opened the silverware drawer to remind myself of how absolutely screwed up it is. It has been repaired 400 times over the last 20 years to the point where the face of it was hanging off. As I pulled it open, I found myself standing there with the front of the drawer in hand, while the rest of it remained quietly in the cabinet. Looking at the pure volume of nails and staples that had been used to attach and re-attach the thing, I was doubtful that there was room for a quick fix.

I was going to have to fix it. So, like any good Dyer, I took the drawer out to my car, and threw it in the trunk. After a week, I opened the trunk, and to my dismay, found that the drawer had not magically repaired itself. In the Dyer tradition, I closed the trunk lid, and gave it another week.

Meanwhile, my parents had returned from vacation, and seemed happily oblivious to the fact that their silverware tray was on the counter and there was a huge gaping hole where the drawer had been. Again, like any good Dyer, I left no note or indication as to the drawers whereabouts upon its extraction. Maybe they figured that it ran off with the recycling bin or something. I don’t know.

Anyway, over the last two days, I built them a new drawer. All told, I think it cost me $5, and it should’ve been a two hour project. My table saw is at my parents, and even without a dado blade, I should’ve been able to zip right through it. I wasn’t building a dove-tailed masterpiece. I was building a wooden drawer to replace a plywood drawer that would inevitably be thrown away in the kitchen makeover that has been right around the corner for at least the last fifteen years. It should’ve been no problem, as I have a little technical ability, I’m pretty handy, and I have an assload of tools. I mean I don’t store them up my ass or anything. They’re in a storage bin and some toolboxes. It’s just an expression meaning a lot. Get over it.

Unfortunately, all my good tools are zipped up in storage, leaving me with just the bare essentials…oh, and a table saw. My Dad is a businessman. He is not a tool man. He used to buy tools, and I’m sure that he would break them out biannually and admire them, but I’m not really sure if he really uses them. When I got him a screwgun, he pretended to be a cowboy, and failed to even charge the batteries. When I called him on not having them charged, he put them in the charger. That was months ago. They were still charging tonight, when took the screwgun on it’s maiden voyage. Anyway, I think that he had some technical ability at one time because I remember he built a really huge bookshelf, but I really don’t know where it all went. He must’ve left it behind in one of his old desks at work, or it may have ran off with the drawer and the recycling bin. I don’t know.

After I built the drawer to the exact specs of the old drawer, I was pretty proud. It was perfect. I checked the fit at every stage, and everything looked good. Then I put on the last guide rail only to find that the drawer was 1/16th of an inch too wide, and rubbed a little on the open and close. Actually, it rubbed a lot. No problem: I’d sand down one side with a palm sander, and be done with it… Except… Wait… where in the flying fuck was the sander? For that matter, where in the flying fuck were all of my Dad’s tools? I looked on some shelves (which were supported on either end by several boxes of light bulbs), on the workbench shelves (propped up on old speakers) and everywhere else that I could think of. I was ready to give up and tear apart my storage space for my sander, and then I was just going to go buy another sander (because a house with a man in it should have a sander in it too), but I decided to strap on the suspenders and hand hew this drawer with whatever was available. I freely admit that this was a bad idea.

Tools that I found:

• Wood File: Made big scratches in the side of my wood and didn’t hew shit. F+
• Hand Plane: No joke. It must’ve been my grandfather’s or something. The blade got rust all over my wood, and again, didn’t hew shit. F++
• Hand Plane 2: It was metallic and shiny like a 50’s space planer. Hewed a little. D+
• Hammer and chisel: To the question, “No you fuckin’ didn’t.” I answer, “Oh, yes. I fuckin’ did. For an hour, I fuckin’ did. It was slightly more effective hewing, albeit messier. C+

Later, with chips all over me and looking like a crazy person, I sat on that floor with that goddamned mess that I made out of that nice drawer, and my Mom came home. She witnessed my hewing, and quietly backed out of the room.

But, the damned thing was done. Pretty and unfinished to done ugly, but done nonetheless. I screwed the side rail back on, and slid it into place, starting a new era in silverware drawers in the Dyer house.

Now, I have to run. I got me a barn raising down at Isachiah’s place.

Posted in DIY