Put It Back Where You Found It

As a kid, the garage in my home was always neat and organized. My dad had toolboxes, drawers, and shelves full of every kind of hand tool, power tool, screw, nail, washer, battery, car fluid, light bulb, wire, and other assorted bric-a-brac you can imagine, and he knew exactly where each little item was located without even looking.

He wasn’t one of those guys that taped little outlines of his tools on the walls so the garage looked like a second-grade jigsaw puzzle, but he believed strongly in the adage “A place for everything, and everything in it’s place.”  Myself, I had no compulsion for such rigid structuring. I believed more in the “free range” ideology for inanimate objects.

Because I was a child with no concept of order or discipline, I frequently borrowed items from the garage then replaced them in the general area of where I believed I had originally found it. My memory was not always reliable, so I did the best I could with what little ability I had. This habit of pretty much random distribution of his stuff turned out to be quite irritating for my dad.

He would constantly tell me I was not allowed to touch his things if I couldn’t be reliable enough to put them back where I found them. I told him I did put them back sort of in the same place, but he insisted that placing them one foot away from where they belonged was the same as losing them completely.

I never understood that statement back then. If I took a hammer from the second drawer of his toolbox, why was it such a big deal that I put it back in the fourth drawer? It was still in the box.

Things change. I understand his frustration now.

I have kids of my own.

I have come to realize that if you look for something and it is not exactly where you expect it to be, it doesn’t matter if it is six inches or six miles away. All you know for certain is that it is gone.

For example, I keep the television remotes on the coffee table in plain sight and available for anyone who wants to watch TV. I have never once heard either of my children ask me where the remote is because it is always in the same spot when they want it. Yet, it never fails that when I want to watch TV, I have to search the entire house for a remote control that has seemingly been sucked into a black hole. They are never on the table when I want them. I typically find them buried between couch cushions, on a kitchen counter, under the TV, or on occasion, in the bathroom.

I’m not certain why anyone would need a television remote in the bathroom, but apparently one or both of my children have their reasons.

And it isn’t just the television remotes. Nothing in my house is ever where it’s supposed to be when I need it. Tools end up missing from the garage only to turn up under the bed in one of the kids’ bedrooms. Dishes magically relocate upstairs to sit on couches and tables for weeks on end. I have even noticed food containers disappearing from the pantry.

Recently, a bag of potato chips went MIA. I searched the pantry for it because I was feeling a bit peckish, but it was nowhere to be found. I discovered days later that EM1 had stashed it upstairs so she would have an available snack for herself whenever she went up to watch TV. She explained the reasoning for her actions by saying she didn’t want the chips to be gone the next time she wanted some.

I’m not sure she has a solid grasp of irony, otherwise she would have understood why her comment left me utterly speechless.

The reason things belong in one place is so everybody can find them when they need to. Otherwise, screwdrivers end up in closets, remotes end up under the couch, and the world is nothing but chaos and anarchy.

I can’t help but think back to when I was working for a police department. Can you imagine officers arriving for work in the morning, then spending the first few hours of their shift just searching for where the last person left the patrol car, the keys, the radio, and the shotgun?

(Although, I do recall working with a particular officer that kept the keys to his patrol car in his locker so no one else would drive “his” car. But that story might need to wait for another day.)

I don’t want to give the impression that my kids are thoughtless or inconsiderate. It’s just that… well, they’re thoughtless and inconsiderate.

I have tried explaining myself several times, but it continues to make no impact with them. I’m sure if my dad were alive today, he would find all of this very amusing. Every time I tell my daughters they need to put things back where they found them, I can hear him standing behind me, laughing.

I’m not sure how to fix this problem. I don’t think the girls are going to change their ways anytime soon. I have honestly thought about going around the house with a bag of nails and nailing everything down so it can never be moved from where it exists right at this moment.

There’s only one problem with that plan.

I can’t find the damned hammer.

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