Home Improvement Gone Wrong, or How I Spent The Last 3 Weeks Of Summer

My house was built in 1940 and has had virtually no renovations done to it. It was a “handyman special” when I acquired it. I wasn’t a handyman at that time, but I figured like many of my friends I’d grow up to be one. 

Apparently I figured wrong.

I started with the closet in the second bedroom that I ripped apart approximately six years ago and never put back together. The second bedroom has functioned solely as a drummer’s practice studio. Outside of a few wayward musicians passing through town looking for crash space and the occasional divorced 40-something friend whose life had fallen apart, the room has remained mostly unoccupied at night.

First came paint. White would be the best choice. Easy to clean up and easy to match — even an amateur like me could make that look good, or so I thought. The plaster walls were in horrible condition. The wall had pulled away from the baseboard molding — in some areas as much as an inch.

I made my first visit to my neighborhood Home Depot on Charles Street. There I met Amy, a painting expert who had literally spent her entire life wielding a paint brush. She explained the pros and cons of each type of paint. Without being upsold, I settled on the most expensive can of white they had. However, as I approached the paint bench for a shake-up, Amy said, “Hey, how would you like a can of our best paint for $9?”

I said, “What’s the catch?”

She said, “Well, it’s an ‘oops’ can. We made a mistake on the color and it’s a custom order. It’s off-white, though. But since you’re painting a closet …”

“I’ll take it,” I said.

Also on my shopping list was a power sander, an environmentally friendly plastic drop cloth, a respirator mask, paintbrushes and roller covers, a tray, screws, nails, and wood for shelves. Borrowing a miter saw from my dad, I was ready to get to work.

I moved important furniture and instruments out of the room to protect them from the dust, and sealed the closet. This proved to be an exercise in futility. The respirator mask left me coughing and gasping for air. The dust got everywhere, including the coffee table in the living room. When I left the room and returned, it was as if I had just removed a burned a pizza from the oven. I couldn’t see through the air. I opened windows, turned on fans and went for a walk.

The next day, after wiping down walls, I started to spackle. Again, an exercise in futility. The walls were in horrible condition, nothing resembling smooth. There was not a single right angle in this closet.

Three applications of spackle and wood filler later, complete with sanding in between, I was ready to paint.

It turns out Amy did me a solid. The color was tolerable. It’s called Cozy Cottage, and for an off-white it looks pretty masculine. Paint got everywhere. All over my arms and legs, my sneakers, my clothing, and my favorite baseball cap (which is now my painting cap). It was also in my hair. I was told it would clean up with water. Eventually.

Over the next week, I applied three coats of paint to the walls, baseboard and trim. Now it was time for the rod and shelves. Here’s where it got interesting.

It all started with the search for studs. My stud sensor thought that the entire wall was a stud, probably due to its uncommon thickness. A YouTube video instructed me to tap the wall and listen for the difference in pitch. “No brainer,” I thought. After all, I am a drummer. Tapping is my business.

I found one. It was about 17” from the corner of the wall where there was no stud. I thought I found another, but it was a false positive. I began to search with a nail. After about 30 nail holes and only one stud, I failed to understand how the house was still standing. I’m no expert, but I knew that without a stud to mount to, my wardrobe would surely bring this entire mess crashing down.

Two weeks into this project, I had to accept that nothing was square, nothing was plumb, and nothing was level, not even the floors. And there wasn’t a stud in sight. So I did what any midlife-crisis-having American man would normally do.

I threw a temper tantrum.

Then I called a friend for help.

Bob has bought, sold and renovated a house for every year I’ve been alive. He came over and started looking for the stud I failed to find. He did say, to ease my frustration, “whoever built this house certainly wasn’t fond of the national building code.” However, within five minutes Bob nailed into a stud, then another, until he had mapped out the entire structure.

Bob proceeded to mount brackets and wire shelves, and installed the center dowel. The entire process took him three hours. I owe him infinite thanks, many beers, and a couple of drum lessons. I plan to make good on all of these.

After six visits to Home Depot, three weeks of my precious time and three hours of Bob’s, I finally have a beautiful, functioning closet — just in time to enjoy the last few days of this beautiful New England summer.