the case of the missing hammer

Recently, one of my co-workers sent around an email asking if anyone had seen his hammer. It was a simple question, really. He went to use his hammer and could not find it. As I tried to move on with my work day, I could not stop thinking about the email. There it sat, glaring at me like the rest of the emails I had yet to respond to or thoughtfully place in one of my 172 email folders. I couldn’t decide what was worse: that I had 172 email folders, that I knew I had 172 email folders, or that I was contemplating making a new one for this hammer email. A quick check of my office confirmed I did not have the hammer, even though a quick check of my memory would have proved I hadn’t seen a hammer in at least three years. With this conclusion behind me, I set off to figure out what happened to the hammer.

First, I felt bad for the guy. I imagine the poor soul rummaging through his desk looking for the hammer. No one actually has a tool box at work, right? If I needed to keep a hammer, it would be right there in the top drawer of my desk next to my granola bar stash and the Liberace pocket mirror I have on hand in case I smear pen on my face during the day. When he couldn’t find the hammer in his desk, he probably started checking out his typical office haunts. It could be by the printer. Maybe he took it with him when he went to pick up that sign he just printed to remind everyone that they can save paper by not printing things. Or he could have left it in the kitchen when he went to check on the mystery smell someone had told him about earlier. Finally he must have decided the most logical conclusion was, even though he is the admin guy for an office of 99 women and 15 men, one of us must have taken it.

Then, my mystery-loving brain started churning. I ignored the swarm of emails coming in and shoo-ed away the people who were hovering around my office waiting patiently for me to have time to think about their problems instead of my current dilemma. Was it Colonel Mustard in the library with the pipe? Who could have taken the hammer? And, even better, what could they be doing with it? Immediately, I jumped to the obvious. Janet was still angry with Brianne for neglecting to water her plants when Janet took a three week cruise on the Mediterranean. Of course Janet stole the hammer and was hiding in the bathroom until Brianne walked in unsuspectingly. Those plants years of upkeep that Brianne washed down the drain. Janet wasn’t sure what she would do when her enemy walked in, but she knew a hammer would help. All I knew was that I was waiting until I got home to use the bathroom.

Maybe it wasn’t so sinister. If there is one thing that TLC has taught me, it’s that anyone can build a desk with a little MDF (Is that what it’s called?), wood glue and a hammer. Meghan was always complaining about her metal desk. She must have come in early so as to not offend anyone with her project. If she hadn’t returned the hammer yet, she must still be working on the desk. Now that it was 2 pm, I bet she had a slab of wood with three uneven legs on it and realized building things was harder than Paige Davis made it seem. I had no doubt that by now she had glued her shirt sleeve to the floor so she couldn’t respond to the email. I took a lap around the office to see if she needed any help. Meghan was happily typing away as I walked by her office, though, and when I placed my ear up to the bathroom door (no way was I going in!) to see if Brianne needed any back up, I didn’t hear anything.

I returned to my desk to face reality. The co-workers I had tried to ignore were back and waiting. Even more emails had come in, pushing the hammer one down so far that, horrifyingly, I had to scroll to see it. I realized where I needed to file the email. Instead of spending time trying to solve a problem I had no specific knowledge of, other than my Clue-playing and TLC-watching expertise, I could spend my time helping to fix things in my control. While I couldn’t resolve the case of the missing hammer, I could resolve the issues of those asking for my help. People always tell me “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey,” but you know what? Sometimes it really is as simple needing your hammer. I deleted the email.

friday

i glanced around the living room to look at the remnants of my evening. the white bag with the red and white "tasty burger" sat on the area rug next to the coffee table. thirty minutes ago, that bag was crisp and clean, advertising the new burger place a few blocks away from my apartment. fifteen minutes ago, i was hurrying home with the top of the bag scrunched in my hand. the bag moved with me as i dodged traffic and red sox fans, dug through my tote bag to find my keys, propped open the door to the mail room as i unlocked my mail box and collected my mail, and climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment. five minutes ago, i propped the bag on the floor to conveniently catch the wrapper of my gorgonzola hamburger when i was done.

white napkins littered the dark table in front of me. i only use napkins on rare occasions for especially messy meals. this was a rare occasion. the three-quarters full box of onion rings looked more like gray and red than white and red from the grease that had soaked through the cardboard. next to the onion right box sat a white paper cup with plastic lid and straw. the bright pink i saw through the lid was mocking me. there were just two sips of the strawberry milkshake left. i wasn't sure if i could do it or not.

the tv remote, wii remote and a few books lay scattered behind the food. i had ravenously shoved them aside to make room for my dinner. on the other side of the coffee table, my legs were propped up. it was a good thing i changed into my incredibly ugly, unquestionably comfortable capri elastic waist "university of pink" sweatpants before i started eating. as i leaned forward to grab the tv remote--the DVR was asking me if i wanted to save or delete last night's project runway i just finished watching--i realized there were pieces of fried batter perched on my red sox t-shirt.

as i contemplated whether to eat the batter or not, i thought about how i should have gone to the gym this morning. i thought about how i should have gone to the gym after work. i realized neither was going to happen now, so i might as well accept that. i thought about if this was really my life. friday night, home alone while my boyfriend is out with friends, indulging in dinner and reality television.

i thought about how last night it was me who was out with friends. i wore my sparkly shoes. we drank fancy cocktails at a local restaurant. i had duck. they got me a card for my birthday. we were tipsy on alcohol, laughter and life. i came home to a boyfriend expecting me. we watched the end of the movie up on HBO. i sobbed uncontrollably because the movie was so heartwarming.

i thought about how i was absolutely, inexplicably, absurdly, one-hundred percent as happy tonight as i was last night. i wiped the crumbs from my shirt and finished the milkshake.