I am the anti-mechanic

Sammi, by virtue of being the smallest girl of her friends, often gets some very nice outgrown things. The bike above came from Emily, one of Sam's best friends, who is moving to Oregon this month.

Before giving it up, they'd raised the seat all the way up to see if it would still fit. It didn't and home it came with us. So this morning, I get the bright idea to tackle lowering the seat.

So I start with, ostensibly, the bolt right here underneath the seat. I match up the wrench size and then remind myself "righty tighty lefty loosey" and realize that makes no sense at all. Because in my mind, the wrench will be turning to the right (from the bottom of my hand) when I'm "turning left" at the top. This is the screwy way my mind works when trying anything mechanical. I then remember having this same confusion before and settling it by reminding myself all things left are counter. So, to loosen something, it goes counterclockwise.

And after loosening the above bolt I discover that's not the one that lowers the seat; it's the one that changes the angle of the seat. I don't discover this early on. Oh no. It takes me completely diassembling what turns out to be five interlocking parts, which go crashing to the floor and rolling about.

So the first 15 minutes were spent on the wrong part of the bike. But I did get it all put back together correctly.

Okay, time to regroup. By this time I'm muttering to myself alone in the kitchen, partly a discussion of what I need to do and partly a little cheerleading mantra: you are not stupid. You can figure this out.


So, finally, after visiting every bolt on the bike (and there are a LOT) I settle on the only other spot it can possibly be. Right in that tiny little space.

So then I stare at the myriad of tools to choose from and keep muttering.


After comparing the rows and rows of bits, some 30 in all, I find the perfect fit and get it in the handle. Only to find out there must be some magical thing you have to do to make it lock tight in order to unscrew something. Because all it would do for me is spin in the handle, round and round.




See?? It FITS? Why isn't it WORKING? (The muttering and, I admit, slight cursing, has begun in earnest now.) I even try using other tools on the tool that won't work in some mad scientist stroke of genius that, sadly, never pans out. I have now spent at least half an hour hunched over this bicycle with nothing to show for it.

About this time, Bob calls saying he's on his way home, sick.

So I bide my time.

And when he gets in the door, I pounce.

Isn't this the right tool? Look! I matched all these pieces and found the right bit and got it in the handle and it should work but it just spins and won't lock and . . . and.. . and. . .

He takes one look and says, "Oh, that part is broken. I don't even know why it's still in the tool kit."

!!!!

Well, @($*%, NEITHER DO I!!!!

And then, he walks over to the million little tools, plucks out this tiny little "key" and voila! drops the seat down in about 2 seconds.



Any conclusion I could write here would never do justice to the interior monologue I had with myself at that moment.