This posting shares some thoughts, in general, about the nature and perhaps the psychology of “doing-it-yourself.” I am not fit to and will not presume to discuss actual skills; my own repertoire is somewhere just this side of Bob the Builder. But the phenomenon has always interested me, and I can certainly claim to have a great deal of (quite checkered) experience.
On the face of it, doing your own home improvements and repairs seems quite sensible. (And, indeed, for many of us repairs do, invariably, follow “improvements.”) Certainly you may save some money, increase your trade knowledge, and nurture new skills while building your sense of competence and self-esteem. What’s not to like?
And certainly the ego-wash of success (should you have any) is gratifying and greatly enhanced if you have the opportunity to acknowledge to someone (ever so casually) that you did the work yourself. Some people are more gratifying to share with than others. Ideally you will dazzle someone who has always wanted to, say, hang a picture successfully. But, invariably something goes awry. The picture ends up too high or low; or perhaps the hammer, called to the Dark Side, hits the wrong nail, or missing the right nail makes a hole in the wall that will require even more daunting “do-it-yourself” to repair. They try their best and still the recent graduate is off center or peeks out over the top of the sofa. However, tooting a horn about your newly installed towel racks and toothbrush holder is not without risks. Be careful about sharing your success with the insensitive and highly skilled handy-person adept – a person who, seemingly without tools, has only to stare coldly at the toothbrush holder to cause it to fasten to its place on the wall. Touting your accomplishments in the presence of this trade savvy “handy-walla” may seriously deflate your “handy-ego” and leave you to tremble at the prospect of replacing a light bulb.
Let’s explore a little of how a project might unfold. How does the common, mortal do-it-yourselfer not born or bred to ineffable handiness get started?
The first step: Identify the problem. The second step: Acknowledge that the problem actually is a problem and one that requires attention and remediation. You may think this parses things pretty fine; two steps just to say, “This can’t go on, and something must be done.” But for many people it does not necessarily follow from spotting a problem that action is required on their part any time soon. These folks have no time for cautions such as: “This can only get worse,” or, “Better now than later.” We will come back to these folks in a minute. Certainly there are people who spot the leaky faucet, the squeaky tread, or the fallen gutter; anticipate the probable outcome if these problems are ignored; and think, “I’ll fix it this weekend.” Such a degree of determination up front is admirable. Of course we cannot raise the flag or sing the anthem until we see what actually got done. But have no doubt, some sturdy, disciplined souls will, in fact, get it done at the weekend – problem solved (hopefully.) Or, should life circumstances (i.e., something more compelling than Game of the Week) require an adjustment to the plan, the work will get done as soon as possible. No procrastinators* in this lot.
*from the Latin “for tomorrow.”
Now we return to the group who knows the faucet is leaking, a wall is damp, the pipes are making the kind of loud comic book bubble sounds that end in -“ang” but they see no immediate cause for alarm. Sure it’s a problem, but the faucet still works. Plenty of time. No one has died. We’ll get to it sometime. No worries. “What time is Game of the Week?” And invariably, as with Aesop’s storied grasshopper, there comes a reckoning. Sunday afternoon (during Game of the Week?), some overstressed pipe lets go. Torrents roll down that even Noah would have found intimidating. When and if a plumber is found (on a Sunday?), the repair will undoubtedly cost the homeowner three weeks’ food budget per hour not to mention the cleanup required and attention to whatever collateral damage has resulted from the deluge. Lessons galore here, and the disastrous outcomes in store for the “que sera sera” set are only eclipsed by the endgame in store for the the “radical deniers” – the people who look directly at the actively leaking faucet, see that it is not leaking and show no concern that the sink is almost full of water.) It is safe to say that most do-it-yourselfers operate someplace in between “right now” and “what ever.”
From the moment the homeowner jumps up crying out: “Let’s do this,” the time it takes to finish the project and the quality of the outcome depend on such substantive factors as skills – manual and cognitive; honest assessment of capacity and past experience; sheer brass; and the ability to tolerate shame, delusion, impulsive misjudgment and gratuitous criticism from any punter with too much time on hand. Some people will turn out to be naturals, others will be lucky enough to acquire and use assistance from books or, most fortuitously, a mentor. Some projects will be completed successfully and others will have a less fruitful outcome: abandonment causing varying degrees of chaos; a call to a professional; and even, in the worst cases, a call to the insurance company as a result of something like a poorly behaved blow torch. Loss of self-respect and the respect of others are frequent; death, while rare, is not unheard of.
Before we close, a couple of random cautionary notes
Effects on family harmony:
It is not unknown for a certain level of friction to develop between the DYI’er and those members of the family who are strongly disposed to the ridiculous notion of hiring someone to do the job who actually knows what she or he is doing. For example, Bob shares with his wife his intention to retile the bathroom floor. There are several loose tiles making it treacherous to enter and exit the shower. Perhaps Mrs. Bob asks her husband, archly, “Why do you think those tiles have come unstuck?” Bob allows as how it must be that the cement was poor quality. Mrs. Bob asks her husband if he thinks the workmanship may have had anything to do with the problems. Bob quickly and cavalierly dismisses this possibility because, as Mrs. Bob undoubtedly remembers (and, oh, yes, she certainly does), he was the one who laid the tile in the first place. No, it must be the cement and this time he will change brands. At this point in their relationship, she no longer bothers with eye rolling or other body language indicative of her aggravation and distress. She knows that Bob is clueless. But then, suddenly, she feels that finally the day has come to take a bluntly forceful stand. Per usual she starts off gently. “You know we could easily afford to pay someone to do it.” And with the ease born of long rehearsal they fall into the familiar dialogue. Bob argues that if he can do it (and certainly he has) then (perhaps a bit surly now) that’s what he should do. And besides they could do something else with the money they save. But this time Mrs. Bob is determined to turn the tide. And to respect their privacy we will leave them now just before she starts her campaign by revisiting the heretofore taboo but cautionary tale called: “The Day the New Drop Down Attic Steps Fell from the Ceiling onto the Napping Cat.”
The Devil’s Toothpaste:
Do I consider myself a rational human guided by science and common sense? Yes. Do I believe in spirits, haunts, banshees, zombies and/or any other occult form of supernatural being? No. Do I believe that caulking is possessed with evil, embodies pure malevolence and is probably spawned by the devil? You bet I do. But sadly, it would be would be rare in the extreme to go through a lifetime of doing your own repairs without having to choose between a compromised result or caulking something.
Caulking. Comes in a tube with a pointed nozzle on one end; fits into a caulking iron or gun (basically a cradle); and has a ratcheted ram at the back end to push the caulk out of the nozzle when you squeeze a large trigger. Videos galore are available on the World Wide Web. A trade’s person dressed in immaculate Dickie bib tops (or a three piece suit for that matter) and possessed of a calm and reassuring demeanor (Yes, of course, you can do this.) walks me through the process. Perhaps they are repairing the tub. They draw a perfect bead of caulk between tub and tile and then, use a forming tool, remove imperfections visible only with the aid of an electron microscope. Task perfect and complete our mentor bids us adieu. Nowhere on their person, clothing or hands (or hair, face, shoes, wallet, etc.) is there apparent even the faintest trace of residue, let alone large gobs of caulk, to hint at what they have just been doing. How was this done? Doctored video? Magic? Alien meddling? Really! How is this possible?
But, seriously, we all used Elmer’s Glue in pre-school and many of us have probably iced a cake. So what’s the big deal? Well, in short, the big deal is the simple fact that the caulking is alive and, apparently, very angry. Say you, too, have to fill a gap between tile and tub. Cut off the tip of the nozzle, try to puncture the foil barrier between you and the caulk, determine that perhaps the nail you are using was too short (it wasn’t), turn away briefly to look for a longer one, and turn back to find caulk all over you and still running out of the tube. If you are lucky you have the presence of mind to use the ratchet release to stop the flow, but probably you are so gob smacked that it takes a few seconds. Automatically you reach behind you for a rag only to discover that all your clean rags are somehow, mysteriously already covered in caulk. Finally you think you have things under control. That is, you turn to your task with the vile stuff smeared in your hair, on your face and clothes as well as in and outside the tub. You attempt to lay down a smooth bead that is just the right size. Things seem to be going ok. But you have failed to account for the height of the soap tray or faucet relative to the length of the gun. The gun stops when it bumps into the obstacle as it is too long to go under. In the time it takes you to register this peril, the extrusion continues and the caulk piles up around the nozzle. Time to reach for a rag? Well, you get the point. Do I believe that caulk is evil, malevolent and the spawn of the devil? You bet!