See the shelving? Mungo. See the trim? Mungo.Stan is learning the hard way that there is just nothing sexy about a walk-in closet.
He's been organizing a 12 foot by 8 foot space in the basement for the dust-free storage of memorabilia, seasonal clothing, adult children's left-behinds, stuff too good to throw out for now, and things to decide upon later.
It is constructed mostly of mungo, Keith Olbermann's term for building materials left behind or not used on a previous job. You know, the leftovers leaning on the margins in garages across America. The stuff that wives either ignore with a telling eye-roll or remark about at the garage sale. ("That's not for sale, my husband has big plans, you know.")
Stan had enough mungo to create the entire closet, with recycled french door and laminated shelving, for $100 worth of new materials. This will not get him a half hour on HGTV's Design on a Dime, but it should get him some note from friends and neighbors.
Nothing so far.
When mentioned in polite conversation it is a non-starter. "I've been mudding walls today," invariably results in, "Oh, when you're done, if you're such an expert, come over to my house. I've got some work for you." Nobody asks for a tour. Nobody wants to ooh and ahh, to examine the shelves, feel the eight-foot clothes pole. Pat Minelli just shakes his head, his wife bragging that she's the handyman in the family. Brother Steve changes the subject, Wes says Stan works too hard for a retired guy. And so on.
Other than a supportive wife looking forward to using the new space, the only willing visitor to the project so far has been neighbor Tom Story, who came out of guilt after asking Stan to help move his big televison set and then dropping it on Stan's foot. "This is real nice," he said, as Stan limped around the premises, showing off the seams in the sheetrock and the smooth, shaped 45 degree corners.
There's just no respect for the builder of walk-in closets. He toils alone, quietly bringing order to chaos, mudding and taping and screwing in anonymity.
He's been organizing a 12 foot by 8 foot space in the basement for the dust-free storage of memorabilia, seasonal clothing, adult children's left-behinds, stuff too good to throw out for now, and things to decide upon later.
It is constructed mostly of mungo, Keith Olbermann's term for building materials left behind or not used on a previous job. You know, the leftovers leaning on the margins in garages across America. The stuff that wives either ignore with a telling eye-roll or remark about at the garage sale. ("That's not for sale, my husband has big plans, you know.")
Stan had enough mungo to create the entire closet, with recycled french door and laminated shelving, for $100 worth of new materials. This will not get him a half hour on HGTV's Design on a Dime, but it should get him some note from friends and neighbors.
Nothing so far.
When mentioned in polite conversation it is a non-starter. "I've been mudding walls today," invariably results in, "Oh, when you're done, if you're such an expert, come over to my house. I've got some work for you." Nobody asks for a tour. Nobody wants to ooh and ahh, to examine the shelves, feel the eight-foot clothes pole. Pat Minelli just shakes his head, his wife bragging that she's the handyman in the family. Brother Steve changes the subject, Wes says Stan works too hard for a retired guy. And so on.
Other than a supportive wife looking forward to using the new space, the only willing visitor to the project so far has been neighbor Tom Story, who came out of guilt after asking Stan to help move his big televison set and then dropping it on Stan's foot. "This is real nice," he said, as Stan limped around the premises, showing off the seams in the sheetrock and the smooth, shaped 45 degree corners.
There's just no respect for the builder of walk-in closets. He toils alone, quietly bringing order to chaos, mudding and taping and screwing in anonymity.
Next time? A jungle gym in the backyard with moat, yellow slide and cheery flags.
