Woodworking makes me stupid - Woodshop News

Woodworking makes me stupid

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Like most people, I occasionally do dumb things. Unlike most people, I do them most often right after woodworking.

The sheer enjoyment of being in the shop tends to make my brain shut off upon returning to the real world. I suppose it’s good that clicking and dragging the entire contents of my brain to the metaphorical trashcan icon doesn’t occur while in the shop, or I’d be describing scenarios like those in my last blog from a hospital bed. No, I generally keep my head on straight around tools; it’s just afterward that I have a problem.

After wrapping up some finishing chores earlier this week I decided to let things dry a bit and take care of some errands. As always, I changed out of my shop duds for street wear, and headed to the local Giant Eagle for some groceries. I got what I needed, took everything to the checkout, bagged it, then reached for my back pocket to pay the $67.28 tab. Nothing in my pocket but lint; my wallet was still in my shop pants.

Now, you’re probably thinking anyone could do that. Perhaps, but I’ve done it so many times that instead of holding my groceries hostage the kind folks at the store routinely allow me to take it home and come back to correct my stupidity. I do this so often that the checkout clerks joke when I start putting things on the belt. “Hey, bring your wallet this time? Har-Har.” I do this so often that when their lips say “Har-har,” I really hear, “What a maroon.” Seriously, I have done this at least seven or eight times in the last year.

Back in the shop, I was checking out the finishing job I’d done before the shopping trip and, still stinging from embarrassment, had a small epiphany. If I squirreled away a credit card somewhere in the car – or, better yet, a Giant Eagle gift card – I’d never again have to make a double trip to get a few groceries. A simple, but elegant solution. Trouble is, I’ve been in and out of the shop a dozen times since, and each time I’m in there I have an oh-yeah moment where I realize I’ve not yet done it. I can’t seem to remember it upon leaving the shop.

A.J.

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