The other night we purchased a bookcase off of Craigslist to go in our homeschooling room. The original plan was for Matt to build a combination of bookcases and a murphy bed. After much consideration and deliberation (he changed his mind), it was decided that we would instead buy bookcases and a sleeper sofa. After a few days of looking, I found a bookcase. It was actually three bookcases that go together. One large middle bookcase and two skinnier side ones. Solid oak, custom made - with a couple oak tables to match.
I was the one who set the whole thing up. On the ad, the man wrote that the bookcases were 98" tall. Instead of thinking about it, I just Googled 98" (Note to self: teach kids to think). It came up as 7 ft. Ceilings are certainly taller than that - it fits! We bought the set, handshakes all around for such good decision making. After we got them, of course, bookcases seem taller than 7ft. I told Matt that the ad said 98." He thought for a moment and said "That's over 8 ft tall." Oh yeah...dividing by 12...right.
We looked at each other (around the formidable bookcases) and began to lift the heaviest one towards the house. For those of you who aren't familiar with our layout, the garage opens to a narrow hallway. Right next to the garage door to the house is the homeschooling door. In other words, it's a sharp corner. The bookcase is solid oak, 98" tall (that's 8 ft, this I now know) and maybe 2.5 ft wide. It's heavy. It's awkward. Our first attempt through the garage was unsuccessful. So we decide to back up and go around the garage through the pool fence and into the side door on the other end of the hallway. Tempting hernias, we huff and puff our way around the house. After a few attempts, it becomes painfully obvious that this bookcase isn't going to fit. Seriously, it's painful. Matt does what any man with woodworking tools and experience does: he saws off a section of the bookcase. Then we fit it in. The other two are close to the ceiling but since they're narrower, they pivot enough to slide into the room.
I tell this long, rather rambling story to illustrate a bigger problem: I have little to no idea how to measure things. How far is London? Could be 500 miles, could be 5,000. Drive to North Carolina? Um, maybe longer than 6 hours but shorter than 20? If the length I'm trying to figure out is anywhere near 5 ft, I imagine myself lying down (or actually do so) and try to work out how many of me would fit. Very scientific, I know.
On one of the tables we bought a screw had been stripped out of the leg. I told Matt I'd run to Ace Hardware and get the next size up while he's at work. Saves him time. I'm ridiculously thoughtful like that. And I had a list of stuff for him to do that evening. Matt made me promise to ask someone, preferably a man, to find me the next size. So I did and later that afternoon Matt called and asked how big the new screw was. I told him the difference between the two was maybe the length of my middle fingernail. I could hear his eyes rolling.
What really gets me is trying to document wound descriptions at work. I shudder to think of my documentation splashed on a large screen for a high profile case, scores of highly educated people reading something like this:
"Pt wound is approximately, oh I don't know, let's say 5 inches wide. Maybe as far from this keyboard I'm typing on to my water bottle. The length is probably as long as my pinky finger. On my right hand, not my left. For some reason, my left pinky finger seems shorter. Maybe it's just the angle. Or the fingernail is shorter. I'm not sure. Anyway, the wound is fairly deep. I could probably fit a couple oreos in it. Not that I would, of course. I would never do that. To oreos, that is."
I make sure to type 'approximately' numerous times so they know that I know that I don't know.
You know?
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