The Turn of the Screw
I am already dreading my arrival at the looming behemoth, crouched on huge concrete legs, hovering over great swaths of land and wrapped in an endless parking lot. Ennui will overtake me when I enter the monster’s gaping jaws. I will wander aimlessly, fruitlessly searching, perhaps never to return.
I arrive and find a “Doris Day” parking space. (In the movies darling Doris always finds a parking place smack in front of her destination.) Good omen. But do I really need the damn screw? If I want to open my silverware drawer without the knob falling off each time, I do. Maybe I could shop for it another day…like when hell freezes over!
Living alone after 60 years of marriage is challenging. Fixing things or securing the clasp on a necklace or deciding which alarm service to use — it’s not easy doing it all by myself.
I sit in the car, feeling sad and lonely. I curse my dear, departed husband who knew about this stuff.
You are a big girl, I tell my childish self, and a capable woman. Get out of the car!
I cloak myself in my invisible armor and trudge in, dreading what is behind the automatic door. What? A man in a blue vest greets me and points to the correct aisle. Standing midway in the screw aisle is another blue vested warbler, cheerily asking if he can help. Wait! Wait! This s too much to take in. In no more than two minutes, he gives me the proper screw and suggests that I purchase another knob, in case it’s the knob that is stripped, not the screw. He must be flabbergasted as I grab him around the waist and give him a big hug.
No waiting in line at the cashier? I wonder if they are going out of business. Only $3.57; must be a mistake. Nothing costs under $5 these days.
I sing “Hallelujah” — Leonard Cohen’s version — all the way home. I carefully remove the screw from the package, insert it in the drawer.
It does not fit.
Thank you my blue vested friend for suggesting a new knob, because that does. A couple of turns with the Philips screwdriver, and it is like new.
Wow! I really do know how to fix things.
The satisfaction is immense. I am going to write a letter to Lowe’s, thanking them for ending a nightmare that attacks me every time I pass a big box store.
