HARDWARE STORE BLUES If I outlive my husband, Im going to scatter some of his ashes at our local hardware store. He loves the place. Inside, he can pretend to be ROBERT SIEGEL EXPERT TOOL GUY. I think, growing up in a rented apartment with a father whose solution to a burnt out light bulb was to light a candle and pray for daylight, Robert longed to be surrounded by the kind of silent manly men who can build stuff and fix stuff. Well, not just men. Theres a woman who works at the hardware store and shes Roberts fantasy female because she knows all about grout and drywall and shes just as quiet as all the guys who work there. Best of all, she never rolls her eyes and says, Seriously? YOURE going to rewire a lamp? Did you see Tim Allen do it on Home Improvement? Youre going to set the house on fire. When Robert shops at the hardware store, he doesnt even need to show his Ace Rewards card. They know his name. Hes BELOVED. I am NOT beloved at the hardware store. Robert tells me the reason is because I have no respect for the silent masculine sensibility of the place: You dont go in there and ask the paint guy if he knows what shade of blue Lady Marys sitting parlor is on DOWNTON ABBEY, Claudia. Last week I decided to become one of those beloved SILENT customers who doesnt have to flash the Ace Rewards card. Instead of speaking when I entered, I did a cool, hip I know what Im here for head nod and strode over to the paint department the way I pictured Clint Eastwood might. There I held out a piece of paper with a Benjamin Moore paint number on it and the words ONE QUART -- SATIN FINISH printed neatly below the number without exclamation points. The paint guy took the piece of paper. I resisted my desire to tell him that Id seen the paint used as window trim on my friends kitchen windows and simply LOVED the way it looked like the most beautiful antique wedding dress shining in the sun. I kept waiting for the paint guy to say something. Wasnt he curious why I had the paint number but not the name of the color? But then I thought of my own husband, who would NOT be curious or interested in the fact that my friend knew the number of her paint -- shed written the number down in a notebook 12 years back -- but not the name of the color. My husband has NO interest in names of colors and is even kind of offended by certain color names such as ecru and chartreuse. After the paint was mixed, the man passed it to me. I could no longer resist speaking: Whats the name of the paint color? I asked. The paint guy looked at me as if no one had ever asked him something that personal before. Finally, he glanced at the print-out on the can and said, Cayman Islands. I gasped. I actually let out a squeal. Oh my gosh! This is the most INCREDIBLE COINCIDENCE. See, my friend who has this color on the window trim of her kitchen didnt know the paint name. She just knew the number. But guess where she is on vacation this week? The Cayman Islands. Can you believe it? The owner of the hardware store peeked his head out from the screwdriver aisle with fear on his face: Everything okay? The paint guy nodded. This ladys excited about the name of her paint color. I realized in that moment Id blown it. I didnt even try to walk like Clint Eastwood as I sadly took my quart of Cayman Islands paint and headed to the register. Roberts fantasy female stood there with her arm muscles all toned from many silent, blissful hours operating power tools and asked for my Ace Rewards card. I handed it to her, aware that I will never, EVER fit in with the hardware store crowd.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Mar 2014 16:03:53 +0000
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