This morning Rachel informed me the door to the garage wasn't working right. I tried the handle and it wouldn’t budge. It was jammed alright. We need to use that door several times a day so I took the lockset out.

We then went to Wal-Mart to pick up a prescription and some other stuff. Leaving the door unfastened wouldn't work since Gimlet could get in the garage, and then escape when the garage door is raised. What to do, what to do? I took a bungee cord, stuck an end through the lockset hole to catch the door, and fastened the other end far enough away to hold it secure. Tacky, but it worked.

Our first stop was Home Depot. One of our CFL bulbs had burned out, and they're difficult to dispose of because they contain mercury. Home Depot has bins to get rid of them. The HazMat team that picks them up must not come around very often, the bin was full. Slackers. They’re kindred spirits doing the jobs illegal aliens don't want to do.

While we were there I picked up a new Schlage lockset to replace the broken one. Getting the same brand as the broken one seemed a reasonable way to avoid potential problems with fit. After a quick checkout we were on our way to Wal-Mart.

When we were at Wal-Mart I started to back away from some shelving and Rachel pushed me forward. As suspected, a lady was pushing a cart behind me. The lady said, "I was afraid I was going to hit him." Rachel turned to me and dryly observed, "See Dad, you scare people."

After wandering the expansive wilderness of Super Wal-Mart we were ready for an early lunch. It'd been too long since I'd had flame-broiled goodness so I suggested Burger Tyrant. Rachel was agreeable, so away we went to dine on the food of kings.

Rachel asked why I bend my fries in half. I pointed out that I only bend the longer ones, the shorter ones I eat in groups. The reason is because the adjoining surfaces promote capillary action, resulting in a higher ketchup/fry ratio.

This knowledge apparently inspired her to wax philosophical. She opined that she loves French fries, everybody she knows loves French fries. “Maybe that’s because they’re hand-crafted in small batches.” I’m a little embarrassed to admit I’d never seen what now seemed so glaringly obvious.

After burgers I was ready for pie and coffee. Rachel said she wasn't interested. I got my coffee and apple pie. I also got a slice of chocolate pie for Rachel. I set the pie on the table and Rachel insisted she didn't want any. In mere minutes she changed her mind, "If I don't eat it here I'll eat it at home." Proving once again that pie is never wasted, and women can't resist chocolate.

When we got home and pulled into the garage she started laughing. I asked why. She explained, "A door held closed with a bungee cord is so redneck." Yeah, it kinda is. Or you could think of it as "homey" or "quaint." "Charming" or "whimsical" would work too. "Bucolic" might be a stretch. But "redneck"? Where did that come from? We don't even own a pickup.

The lockset package said, "Lifetime Warranty" so I called Schlage to see what they had to say about our broken one. I explained that I’d taken it out of the door, the levers worked fine, but the bolt only depressed about an eighth of an inch. The woman I talked to said they call the bolt a latch, it was broken, and she'd send me a new one. I told her what Rachel said about the bungee cord appearing redneck. She laughed, and thanked me for being an enjoyable customer. It's another service.

Cold air would continue coming through the hole in the door so a decision had to be made. Stuff it with a sponge or sock? No, that would only look more redneck. The lockset was put back in without the latch. The hole is sealed, and the levers make a fine holder for the bungee cord. Now we have to take the new lockset back to Home Depot. It just never ends. It’s too cold for sweat equity.

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