I went looking for a Phillips head screwdriver for a DIY task and was shocked at what I found

The culprit kitchen sink hot-water handle.

BY MARK MAYNARD

I had set out on a simple DIY fix to snug up the handles on the kitchen faucet.

At the time, the girlfriend-wife was zeroing in on the task with a steak knife. It was a good steak knife with a wooden handle and part of a six-piece set I’d bought at Home Depot for $10.

“Noooo! I screamed” — in my head. “Let me handle that, puh-leeze,” I said. And then I might I also have said something aloud like, “A knife is not a good screwdriver.” But those words and breath were quite wasted. A resourceful, non-tool-respecting person will use whatever is handy — without having to rummage through toolboxes, wherever they might be.

A steak knife, or any knife blade, whether it be butter or putty, should not be used to turn a screw. Unless, of course, the do-it-yourselfer is stranded at the side of the road, and then I’ve even tried a fingernail.

Junk and stuff

So, I then turned to the kitchen junk drawer, just to the right of the sink.

A respectable home cook and do-it-yourselfer will have a kitchen junk drawer. And in it should be a small pair of needle-nose pliers (to pull fish bones), a standard pair of pliers (for just in case), a slotted-blade screwdriver, and a Phillip’s head.

Is that so peculiar?

The kitchen junk drawer.

But in the drawer, I found:

• 10  paper-wrapped packs of carry-out wooden chopsticks;
• A plastic melon baller;
• Two or three meat thermometers, but one might be a candy thermometer;
• My mom’s 1950s twist-off jar-lid remover plus a newer black plastic model;
• Birthday-cake candles (several varieties, some used briefly) in a tattered Baggie, with a couple of packs of book matches;
• A gaggle of the thick rubber bands from bunches of broccoli or asparagus;
• Restaurant to-go menus;
• My collection of grocery coupons and store list (also avoided by the girlfriend-wife);
• Another Baggie with several pairs of nutcrackers and picks (which we use for the twice-annual lobster feasts);
• Heart-shaped metal tin with all sorts of weird flotsam, such as a rolled-up seamstresses’ tape measure, an antique faucet handle, two little plastic babies from New Orleans-style King cakes, a packet of screws and anchors;
• Assorted chip clips in another old Baggie;
• Plastic cake decorating tips, new and unopened;
• Cheesecloth, unused in a slim pack;
• A turkey baster with no squeeze bulb.

The heart-shaped tin of stuff.

But no screwdriver — or any of the other tools I was sure I had stashed there.

So out to the garage, I trod, on a mission.

My trusty Sears tool cart will have the right tool, somewhere. Pulling open the top drawer, so smooth with its track gliders. The first-level drawer (of four) is where I have aligned my screwdrivers for quick access.

Over time, however, some of my so-called “quick access” tools have migrated there. Finger-sorting among the items, there was a utility knife and a pencil sharpened with the utility knife, a pair of desk scissors, a handy-dandy blade- and tool-sharpener and a couple of pair of vice-grips.

There were two water-pump pliers, two pairs of diagonal cutters, steel nail nippers, and a small roll of black electrician’s tape. My grandad’s claw hammer (the style with the stacked leather handle) is top-center and along the right side is a vintage sleeve of pipe cleaners and a roll of small-gauge brass wire.

Dismay set in as I stood back to look at the collection of mismatched tools. Of the 18 flat-blade screwdrivers I found, there were four Phillips’. And those were tiny or the star-blades were rounded off.

How could this be? My honorary do-it-yourselfer’s badge was in jeopardy?

A graveyard of tired tools

Eyeing the jumbled drawer it was more of a graveyard for tired tools.

There was one Phillips’ head that would do the job. But was I just an undiagnosed tool hoarder?

Some of the screwdrivers in my collection I’d been carting around since I left the Ohio farm in 1976. A couple of them came from my first Sears toolbox bought for me as a Christmas gift by my first father-in-law. That was in about 1980.

Top drawer of my trusty Sears tool cart.

Should I just scoop up the lot and drop them in the dumpster?

Harbor Freight sells plenty-packs of screwdrivers starting at $3 for six, a 22-piece set for $11, a 70-piece set, with a four-leg storage rack, for $28, or a pro mechanic’s set of eight for $50. It might be helpful to own a few long-reach screwdrivers, precision screwdrivers, magnetic screwdrivers, and bit sets.

Like most do-it-yourselfers, I do have two, maybe three, screwdriver bit sets. But digging through those takes more time than opening a drawer and finding a blade that’d be good enough.

My children, sort of

On some level, my tools — like my microfiber car-care towels — are like my children. I just can’t off-load them. There’s even a slender antique sewing machine screwdriver, slotted, with a nifty bulb-like wooden handle. And there’s my dad’s stainless-steel, right-angle screwdriver. Gotta keep that one, even it is seldom used.

Throwing away a tool is like throwing away a partial bottle of good booze. Just because I haven’t poured a drink in years is no reason to just give it the heave.

Buying new screwdrivers just seems like cheating or betrayal of those old soldiers I’ve been carting around. To be gifted new screwdrivers is a whole other thing and that’s OK.

As I turned to head back to the kitchen with the good-enough Phillips’ head, I pulled open drawer No. 3. And oh my, I was faced with another category of psychiatric care: sockets. How do I have so many?

But that’s another do-it-yourself column and after that one, there are the random wrenches, kitchen cutting boards, and doormats. So many deserving of a decent burial.