Incompetence

Few things frustrate me more than my own incompetence. Well, except when an unidentified co-worker uses the staff washroom at work and leaves very well pronounced skidmarks in the toilet. To make matters worse, the seat was still warm. Enough said.

Anyway, back to matters of competence, or lack thereof. We bought a shed about one month ago with the intention of putting it in our back yard. It's an 8' x 10' monstrosity that weighs more than anything in this life ever should. So with the help of a few friends who went above and beyond the call of duty, we ripped the shed into 6 pieces and hauled it over to our place where it now lies scattered across the back yard. As usual, Stacey put together a detailed gameplan that would account for all matters related to the shed. It was my job to carry out the gameplan, to catch the vision, to bring home the goods, as it were.

(Can anyone tell me what "as it were" actually means? It doesn't even make sense, but it sounded like it should go at the end of that sentence. Any help here would be greatly appreciated ... as it were???)

Agreeing to carry out the gameplan wasn't really where I discovered my incompetence. Rather, this is where my incomptenece was confirmed. I had a sneaking suspicion that when it comes to all things 'handyman,' I had enough inability for two people. Should you doubt this, may I refer you to my blogs about painting?

The first step was to lay patio stones. A couple of hours later, the stones were in place but I couldn't feel my back. Along the way, I managed to become stupidly confused about the measurements of the stones and how they would align with the length and width of the shed. At one point, I even needlessly started moving stones from where they should have been to account for my confusion, only to discover later, they were in the right spot the first time. Back they went.

Once I started replacing the studs in the walls, I was doing slightly better. Until I actually started screwing the studs into the walls. Never mind the fact that I cut almost every piece of wood - or 'lumber' for you hardcore handymen - about 1/2 an inch short. As I pressed and pushed the screw into place with my new power drill, the screw would only go 3/4 of the way in, leaving an inch or so of screw outside the stud. There I sat, thinking to myself, "Great, now I'm screwed ... man, I feel like a tool." Puns intended.

About 20 minutes later, after staring down my new drill much like a baseball player stares at his glove when he misses a ground ball, I discovered that my drill has different torque levels. So I cranked up the torque on that bad boy and let it rip. I would not be defeated again. Much to my surprise, confusion, and giddy delight - all in equal amounts - the screws disappeared into the studs, a little quicker than I expected, I might add. Why don't they just torque up every drill so it works like that automatically? Perhaps I'll add that to my list of questions to ask God when I get to heaven: "What's the deal with power drills?"

I did what I could today. The patio stones are where they need to be even though one of them spontaneously broke when I picked it up. Not to mention that one row of stones is about 2 inches longer than any of the others despite the reality that all the stones are exactly the same size and have exactly the same amount of stones in each row. Yes, I know the lines are probably slightly crooked, but guess what? I don't care. They resemble a square or a rectangle or whateve it needs to be, and I'm OK with an extra two inches in a back corner that likely won't make a difference.

That's what incompetence does. It breeds mediocrity.

After all this, I can be thankful for at least one thing on this thanksgiving weekend. This experience has taught me that I absolutely detest yard work, and I include the laying of patio stones - or any other kind of stone - in the term, "yard work." This is a little golden nugget of truth for which I am forever greatful, for I shall never walk down this road - or this patio - again. I will stick to things I am good at, but still attempt things I don't know that are realistically within the realm of possibility.

I guess it just goes to show you. Some days you're the skidmarks. Other days, you're the toilet.