THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 22, 1996 TAG: 9609220019
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: 60 lines
In every man's life, there are certain watershed events.
Learning to shave. The first date. Taking the driver's test. Getting married.
And contrary to popular belief, those rites of passage don't stop once you hit middle age. Case in point, the first time you willingly go to a hardware store.
Now let the word go forth, that I don't know a 10-penny nail from a Phillips head screwdriver. But last weekend something unusual happened.
In search of a Dustbuster, I ventured to my neighborhood hardware store. I won't mention its name, but it's the one John Madden shills for in commercials. If it's good enough for Coach Madden, it's good enough for me.
Anyway, off in the quest for the Dustbuster I went, with plans to grab the wonder appliance, pay for it, and leave. As a kid, my father and grandfathers dragged me - against my will - to the hardware store on Saturday mornings. I hated it.
No toys. No comic books. No baseball cards. No television sets showing Rocky and Bullwinkle. Just hedge clippers and hammers and plungers and pocket knives . . .
It's an amazing thing about men and hardware. We gently lift the clippers, garden hose or circular saw from the rack and hold it at arm's length, like parish priests gazing at the Shroud of Turin.
``Does this thing work with a 220?,'' my Dad would ask the hardware man, as he hoisted up a hand-held drill.
``Like a charm,'' the man said.
``What's a 220?,'' I asked. Bad move. A kid should never ask an adult a hardware-related question. In my case, I got the full Western Auto Annotated History of Electrical Wiring, Vol. I.
Anyway, back to the Dustbuster.
I entered the building and was hit with the unmistakable perfume known to hardware stores everywhere. Just as Woolworth Stores smelled of stale popcorn and bubble gum on a leather-soled shoe, hardware stores smell of new rubber, freshly cut wood and paint.
I was hooked.
Before I knew it, I was checking out John Deere baseball caps, ball-peen hammers, and wet-dry shop-vacs. I suddenly felt the overwhelming need to buy a lawn tractor, and held an argument with myself trying to justify why someone who lives in an apartment, on the third floor, with no lawn, needs a riding mower. I almost pulled it off.
My logic: ``Well, if the county guys who do the lawn at the courthouse ever have a breakdown, I'd be there to help. A great service to the community. I could be a horticultural hero.''
No dice.
I checked out gas grills and smokers and even a tool bench that would have provided plenty of room for my expansive tool collection - one screwdriver and one hammer.
I found that these days, you can even buy soda pop and cat litter and a cookware set for eight. Anything's for sale at a hardware store, including a kitchen sink.
And I learned something new after completing my rite of passage in this Treasure Trove of Tooldom.
I'm becoming more like my Dad every day.
And that's not too bad. by CNB