First, get an old bag with
lots of pockets. Pockets are essential, even though your bag will not be
sorted into any discernible system.
Then, fill this bag with random screws, nails, nuts, bolts, and bits of wire.
Under no circumstances should you visit a hardware store to purchase
these trinkets. That would ruin the intended effect, which is to suggest you
have been cultivating your collection for many years. The more used your doodads, the better. Bits of rust
and paint add intrigue. Broken nails are a bonus. If you can gather
lint and hair and unidentifiable grime on a little spiral of metal wire,
consider yourself a master of your trade. Display this wire on an outer
loop of your bag like a badge of honor. You will notice clients eyeing
your muck-covered wire, because they too recognize the value it holds.
Their queasy expression masks their sense of wonder and jealousy.
Go ahead, flick your bag to leave a bit of this wire's treasure behind in
your client's home. They love this.
Once you have your bag ready, you should devote attention to your nail. I
mean the one on your finger, your non-dominant pinky to be exact. Allow it to grow out. Do not cut it ever again. Once it is of
sufficient length, you may begin filing. Work towards a point.
Eventually this nail will be very useful to you. No, not for your
work. For picking your nose. But this skill (with accompanying
specialized nail) is a job requirement.
Learn the art of furniture climbing. Step-stools and ladders are for amateurs.
When a client calls you to look at their broken light fixture or install
drapes above a window, they are hoping for a simultaneous balancing act worthy
of the circus. Once you enter their home, begin searching out the most
precarious way to climb to their ceiling. Counters or window ledges are
too obvious, too basic. Standing on an antique side table is a
decent start. The next level is to perch on the edge of their delicate
armchair. Maybe walk across the back of their sofa, where you've placed
your old bag, muck-side down of course. Once you've mastered one-piece
climbs, try balancing a chair on top of a bookcase. Tilt the chair for
maximum sighs of wonder from your clients-cum-audience. You must be on
the lookout for the occasional tricky client who offers you their sturdy and
sensible footstool. Shrug it off and continue swaying on their rolling
desk chair as you hammer away at their ceiling.
Which brings us to your final preparation: practice the art of the well-placed
whack. The western idiom about duct tape and WD-40 is too complicated; it
requires remembering whether your desired result is stuck or unstuck.
Worse yet, it requires carrying supplies that you might actually use --
not the point of the bag, remember. The Chinese handyman credo is simpler:
every household quandary can be resolved with a bang. If one thwack
doesn't do the trick, try another. Or ten. Or 100. Or
basically just keep banging away until the problem is fixed. Despite
defying all rules of physics and logic, this strategy actually works 99% of the
time.
Once you’ve delivered the golden whack, your job is done. Leave the furniture upended, stacked,
and ideally teetering dangerously.
Remember to flick your bag before you go. As an encore,
demonstrate your pinky-dagger nose-picking abilities on the way out the door. You have mastered the art and science of the Chinese handyman.
