One less toolbox to worry about

A wonderful thing happened to me last spring. Someone stole my toolbox.

Before you get all up in arms about “what’s the world coming to, that some junkie has to go around stealing people’s toolboxes,” I should describe it.

First of all, the box was worth more than the tools inside it. It was one of those nifty plastic toolboxes that allowed you to take only what you needed. It was divided into trays, each with its own handle. I have to admit, it was a pretty cool setup.

What was in the box, however, was, shall we say, marginal. The torque wrench a college buddy willed to me 32 years ago when he was moving out of his dorm room. A pair of $2 pliers. A random assortment of sockets for a wrench I had lost. Miscellaneous do-dads and whatyamacallits, And a couple of things that were total mysteries, like one electronic gizmo with red and green lights and wires with alligator clips. It had probably been used by the CIA for interrogations.

All I know is they all were stolen and, with them, most prospects  of fixing anything around the house.

Which is fine with me. In fact, it’s great with me. In fact, I want to thank the junkie who stole them. He has saved me more grief than anyone I can think of.

Now, when Patti, my soul mate and the love of my life, asks me to fix something around the house, I usually just shrug and say, “Sorry. That junkie stole all of my important tools. I just can’t. I’d really like to help, but I just can’t.”

And I push back the old recliner and crack open that book I’ve been reading.

Which, of course, makes me no brownie points whatsoever. I should also add that we do a have a small auxiliary toolbox under the kitchen sink that is adequate for most of the little jobs, like fixing a faucet, so I’m not a complete heel.

The big jobs, however, are completely beyond my reach.

Which is just as well. I’m one of those guys who keep repairmen in business. I’ll usually monkey around with something for a few days, trying to fix it, and then give up and my wife will call a repairman, who will have it fixed in 20 minutes.

Now, she just calls the repairman and saves me $80 in materials and three days of aggravation.

All is good.

However, I know this interlude of bliss is rapidly coming to a close. I know that, for Valentine’s Day, my birthday or some other national celebration, I’ll get a gift of tools, complete with a bright, shiny new toolbox.

And then all I can do is hope for the best: that some junkie will steal it, like he did my old one.

Hmm. Maybe if I put it on the driveway with a “Free” sign on it,  that would help.