Liquid Duct Tape

WD-40 stands for Water Displacement (attempt) 40 and was invented almost accidentally when trying to create a rust preventer. I’m starting to use it on every thing in my new apartment.

Nothing makes you more aware of how completely you have morphed into your father, then a home improvement project. I am one complaint about ‘cheap foreign labor’ away from becoming my dad, after installing a couple of closet hooks and storm windows this weekend. Not only do I swear at inanimate screws and insist that every one around me “use more elbow grease”, I have also picked up my dad’s single solution for every problem that doesn’t involve girls: “spray it with WD-40″.

My dad sprayed WD-40 on every thing. He didn’t even talk about WD-40 like it was a pressurized can so much as an employee or seventh, really-resourceful kid: “put WD-40 on it and give ‘em ten minutes”, was his answer to most jobs. My youngest brother probably assumed WD-40 was a robot, given my dad’s constant requests for it. In a family of eight, my dad likely bought cans of WD-40 more often then toothpaste. Furthermore, his usage tips on WD-40 seemed to be lifted out of a Boy Scout manual, rather then a legitimate, home-improvement source. Despite a page of vapor warnings on each can, my dad swears you can shave with WD-40. My sister is probably the only person in the world who has shampooed with WD-40 after getting gum stuck in her hair and not waiting for mom to get home before telling a parent. How many fathers begin all advice on a commercial cleaner with the phrase, “if you can’t find a doctor…”.

What’s worse then putting WD-40 on every object in some house? Putting WD-40 on every object in some house without telling any one. Have you ever sat on a porch glider that has suddenly had all friction removed from it- you’ll wish it had air bags. My dad inadvertently created the world’s most unsafe practical joke, as he secretly lubricated every thing to run at seventy times its normal speed. My dad didn’t even remember using WD-40 until he heard you spin into a wall or nearly slide off the porch- then he would respond, “oh, by the way, I fixed the chair” from a different room. Obviously my dad –a man who finds himself wondering, “what did I repair last?” when ever some one screams– has no future in automotive services. Plus, I think the folks at Midas try to deliver warnings before a crash and stop using terms like “fixed” after you’ve separated a shoulder.

My dad’s worst project was, by far, dressers. Have you ever opened a drawer that’s had all resistance unexpectedly removed- it’s like having furniture thrown at you. My mom once entered our room to get Brendan some socks –after my dad “fixed” the dresser– and abruptly screamed like dad put a raccoon in it, after a drawer was virtually blasted into her stomach. It was like watching a really lame remake of “Maximum Overdrive”, where every one’s attacked by affordable furniture, rather then heavy machinery. How many other families have to state, “brace yourself”, before opening the pajama drawer? Our home was two “crazy mirrors” away from becoming a funhouse with no gravity.

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