Help at the hardware store

Before I could plant anything, I had to accomplish two wine-barrel-related tasks: Drill holes in the bottom, and install casters.

It should be noted for the record that, going into this? I had no idea how to do either. And I definitely didn’t own any of the proper equipment.

Related to this issue: I hate it when salespeople in stores ask me if they can help me. I realize this is their job, but most of the time, I want to rummage around until I find what I’m looking for.

This only works, of course, if I have any idea what I’m looking for.

In the case of some of the most critical equipment involved in the Great Wine Barrel Preparation of 2010, I was at a total loss. I marched into the little hardware store on an industrial street here in Jack London Square and right up to a salesperson.

“I need to drill holes in the bottom of some wine barrels, and I need to install casters on the bottom of them,” I said. “I need every piece of equipment I need to do that.”

I said this with the authority cultivated through my years of being a reporter and needing to ask questions of people and in places where I was unwanted. When I need to, I can summon a ridiculous and yet totally commanding presence.

The hardware store employee looked at me slightly askance. “How big are these wine barrels?” he asked.

With great authority, I said, “They are wine-barrel sized. They are this big.” I mapped an approximate (and probably inaccurate) circumference in the air with my arms.

“How thick are the bottoms?” he asked.

“I have no idea at all,” I said, still rocking the commanding voice. “But it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to put dirt in them.”

For all the lawyers out there, I must just say this: I realize there is absolutely no logic to the above pair of sentences. But it didn’t even cause the hardware store employee to blink.

He cruised around the store, leading me first to a drill (“It’s $21. It’s basic. It’ll do what you need.”), then to a bolt setter, then to a drill bit, then to casters (“Brakes? Or no brakes? Oh, wait. I only have three of each, anyway. You’ll just have to take them all.”), then to bolts (“These aren’t that long, and if they stick out into the barrel, it’ll be fine, since there will be dirt covering them.”). In short order, I had nearly $100 worth of equipment, and while my internal financial manager screamed at me that this was all a bit ridiculous, I just carried it up to the front as if I did this every day. I usually ignore the internal financial manager anyway.

“Oh,” I said. “One more thing. Do you guys have any dirt?”

They had plants outside, so I assumed they must have potting soil.

“How much do you need?” he asked.

“Probably 10 bags. What, are they 10? 20 pounds?”

Though he had been quite polite in the face of my ignorance thus far, now? He laughed. “We don’t have that much dirt. You need to go somewhere else for that. One of the big stores. They’ll be cheaper, too.”

And so, I got in the car with my new power tool and all the assorted bits and pieces, backed out, and drove off to Emeryville in search of cheap dirt with which to fill my barrels.