"Curtain rods" is not always the codename for guns. |11:40 AM|
I hate curtain rods. If I was to build a house with my bare hands, out of the raw materials of trees, dirt, and iron ore, I would still hire people to come in and do the curtain rod hanging. Something always goes terribly wrong with curtain rods.
Over the weekend, I put together shelves that are taller than I am, wider than I am tall, and possesing 5 shelves each capable of supporting 500 pounds. I assembled a kitchen table in less than 10 minutes, and I installed a set of metal shelves inside of a closet in which I had less than an inch of room on either side. Yet I refuse to be responsible for curtain rods. Despite this, while Portal was moving into her new apartment, I assisted her father in said rod 'o curtains installation, and without my help it likely would have become violent. Using my mechanical intuition, and a leathermen, I managed to fit the rods to the proper length, complete with side hook. When it became impossible to tighten the screws on the underside, I removed a bit from a screwdriver, and placed it in the teeth of aforementioned leatherman and created a right angle screw driver.
Such feats of (to me) simple mechanical know how impressed the family members, and thus my ego was stroked. When I mentioned as much to my family ("I helped with curtain rods. And I didn't even murder people") they pointed out that people have been coming to me for odd mechanical repairs for years. Since I was in second grade, actually. I remember fixing a globe that wouldn't spin correctly back then. I fixed my great-great-Aunt's old cukoo clocks, repaired a variety of models, yadda yadda yadda. I bring these up because they all have something in common, I had no clue what I was doing when I started, but I was able to fix them anyway. Maybe I have some useful skills after all. Besides of course, my killer tuck turn.
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