Hey kids, don't try this at home!

A childhood spent perusing DIY magazines ushers in a life of mechanical mishaps. 

As children, my younger brother and I inherited decades’ worth of do-it-yourself magazines: Popular Mechanics, Science & Mechanics, Popular Science. They exemplified the heyday of backyard projects, before panicked legal departments finally clamped down. And while we never built a one-person hovercraft out of a lawn mower, we were certain that we could have, if not for parents who lacked vision.

Instead we developed what some might call a cavalier attitude toward technology. I prefer “empowered.”

Fast-forward to early adulthood. My first full-time job involved a long bus ride and a six-block walk. It pelted rain one morning. I had an umbrella, but the puddles were unavoidable. My shoes and socks were soaked. I stuffed paper towels into my shoes to dry them. What about my socks?

I recalled a recent article on microwave clothes-dryers in Japan. My thick all-cotton socks surely were safe at high temperatures. I ran a test to be sure: 30 seconds on high in the office microwave. The socks were warm and steamy. Two minutes should do it. I punched in the numbers, hit “start,” and walked away.

Apparently even “all-cotton” socks contain a tiny bit of nylon, for stretch. Nylon melts at relatively low temperatures. Seconds later, a passerby spotted my sputtering, smoking socks.

“I never thought I’d have to send out a message like this,” the head of my office wrote in an all-points email: “Do NOT use the microwave to dry socks – or any other article of clothing, for that matter.” I confessed immediately. Thank goodness he had a sense of humor. But I never, ever heard the end of it.

And I wasn’t done.

Sometime later, years into married life, our refrigerator was making a funny ticking noise. My deep dive into YouTube, surely the inheritor of the DIY magazines’ mantle, pointed to dust as the culprit. But after some brushing, mopping, and vacuuming, the problem persisted.

Certain that only one noise-producing particle of dust remained, I reached for the nuclear option. A machine that, according to the manufacturer, could produce a blast of air equal to that of an F5 tornado, 250 mph: my electric-powered leaf blower

Yes, my wife was out of town. Why do you ask?

I plugged in the leaf blower, stuck its snout under the fridge, and gave it a few quick bursts and a long pull.

Success! The noise was gone.

My wife had a pointed question immediately upon returning home: Did I know anything about the thin layer of fine dust coating every surface of the kitchen?

“Yes,” I said, after a pause. “And did you notice,” I added quickly, “that I fixed the refrigerator?” 

I still wasn’t done.

We’d finally had enough of that fridge. A silent auction at work resulted in our buying a newish model. Two burly men heaved it into our minivan. It stuck out the back. We tied down the tailgate and drove home.

New problem: There was a 300-pound appliance sticking out of the minivan. “So, do I take the refrigerator shopping with me?” my wife asked. My pointing out that any perishable items could now be put away even before she got home was not seen as helpful.

I got to thinking, not too clearly. I wasn’t two burly men. But maybe I could drag the fridge out of the van and use a handcart to shift it to one side of the driveway?

I’d seen movers strap large items to their backs in order to use their leg strength to haul them. No way could I lift a fridge. But perhaps I could ooch one out of a van using my legs.

I didn’t have a rope. So instead I square-knotted a section of garden hose into a big loop. I put one end across the top of the fridge, which was lying on its side. I stood in the loop’s other end, on the driveway, the hose tight across my back. I started to lean and pull. The hose stretched, and stretched some more. The refrigerator did not budge.

Suddenly, I had a clear and urgent thought. I pictured myself losing my footing and being catapulted, cartoonlike, into the bottom of our new kitchen appliance. Splat!

I hastily unknotted the hose and put it away. I called a local appliance store, and it sent over two burly guys to remove the old fridge and install the new one.

“You should probably vacuum before we put in the new one,” they said. “Looks pretty dirty back there.”

I said nothing.

Have I learned my lesson? I confess I still think about that one-person hovercraft. And it’s my lawn mower, now.