The Domino Theory of           Home Repair

 

The Domino Theory was a major U.S. foreign‑policy idea during the Cold War. The basic claim was simple. If one country in a region fell to communism, neighboring countries would fall one after another, like a row of dominoes. As it turned out, the model was not very predictive, but that fact did not stop our government from using it to shape foreign policy for a half-century. I guess they liked the name. Political scientists and historians talked about the Domino Theory like they came up with the thing, but anyone who has ever attempted home maintenance knows the real truth. The Domino Theory was born in a garage, not a war room.

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The other day, my wife noted to me that a screw was absent from a cabinet-door hinge. It was clearly missing, but I had not seen it because I have over time trained myself to not see things like that, so it fell to her to point it out. In a well-run home, everyone has their duties to perform. Anyway, the screw was not just loose. It was gone. Why a screw would simply just disappear from the face of the earth is beyond the scope of this essay, but it will be covered in a subsequent column called Why My Home Hates Me.

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So, the missing screw and my decision to replace it was Domino #1. I headed to the shed to find a screw. If you ever have occasion to enter my shed, the first thing you will notice is that there are a lot of screws in there. Boxes and boxes of them, many unopened. In addition to the boxes, there are coffee cans and buckets of loose screws, as well. All of these screws were acquired over the past forty years during other projects that required a specific screw that I did not have. And believe it or not, amongst all of those screws, there was not a single one that would work for my door hinge. So off to Home Depot I went. This was Domino #2.

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Upon my return from Home Depot with my newest box of screws, I went back out to my shed for a screwdriver, and there I encountered Domino #3. I once counted up all of my screwdrivers, and at that time I owned sixty-three of them, but none of these seemed to be out there in the shed right then. No, I don’t know where they all were; perhaps they were in another dimension resting next to my missing door-hinge screw, several unmated socks, and my youthful optimism. Who can say? I did find several tools that I had needed but couldn’t locate for a home repair moment my wife had identified the previous week, but they were no good to me at this point. So off to Ace Hardware I went to purchase screwdriver number sixty-four. As a community service, I like to spread out my tool-replacement purchases to promote the local economy. It’s the least I can do.

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I arrived home with my newest screwdriver. I was two hours into a five-minute job and somewhere around Domino #4, and the sad part was, I felt like I was making progress. The missing screw that needed replacing was in a lower cabinet door, and since I don’t see that well anymore, all I needed was my flashlight before I began. So I opened the door to the utility room, which is where I keep my flashlight. In there I found a single roller skate, a VHS tape of The Firm, a mystery key ring full of keys to who knows what, three caulking guns which should have been out in the shed, six extension cords, a tile-removal tool, and no flashlight.

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So, armed with most of what I needed to screw in that screw, I climbed down into the floor and ran square into Domino #5. My back went out. As I lay there in the floor contemplating screws, backs, and my life in general, I spoke the words that many homeowners have spoken over the long, cruel years.

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“Screw this. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”