Ever have one of those days where you accomplish something great at work? Like that time you taught a kid to read? Like that time you built a cedar chest? Like that time you bought Instagram? (Obviously, I have no idea who my readership is.) I myself recently wrote a program with a pretty wicked left outer join that I’m quite proud of.
In fact, I was certain that program would be the highlight of my January at Cabinet-Department-That-Shall-
Not-Be-Named. But then I dropped
my water bottle cap in the crevice between my filing cabinet and the wall. And
a whole new opportunity for greatness opened up.
Stay with me here.
Imagine, if you will, a narrow gap about 2 inches wide and 18 inches deep. Your arm is a bit too wide to fit in the gap past your forearm.
Actually, maybe a crude diagram would help:
Magnificent, I know.
So, anyway, I’d basically written the bottlecap off as lost, because there was no room to maneuver the minifridge (there are complicating factors that I’m leaving out of this story, so go with it), and my hand couldn’t reach to cap from above or any side.
But then I realized that it’s not for nothing that I have two college degrees. So I rolled up my sleeves and fashioned what some might call a crude poking device (veiled Friends reference) but what others might call a plastic knife taped to a ruler:
By applying my knowledge of physics and mechanics (leverage and elbow grease, really), I managed to wiggle that little mofo out of there. I believe it’s this sort of thing that led a co-worker to refer to me as a “plucky Midwesterner.”
I realize that this is a tiny matter in the grand scheme of things, but it was pretty much the highlight of my day.