Ode to the Hardware Store

The smell of the hardware store is distinctive. The scent of tires and hope, of hands-on work and soon-to-be-completed projects. Stepping in this place makes everyone a doer.
 

The store isn't modern and sleek. The weird yellow lighting and the cracking floor tiles give off a cozy aura-- the old, the experienced, the reliable
 

"What can we do for you? How are you? What are you working on today? Hello."

A sound-- like footsteps-- uttered by the ceiling fans overhead. The door opens and the faint murmurs of outside can be heard before the bell rings. 6:00 and the sweating man runs by outside, struggling, hobbling, yet prevailing, as the sun sets.
 

"Sure. Sure. You bet. Yes. Absolutely. Of course."
 

The far isle looks plain and empty. The rows of screws are stowed away in drawers, awaiting their moment to be uncovered in a time of need. The magic happens as soon as they are awoken with a tug. Finding the right screw is searching for a lover. The perfect fit is elusive to those who look with untrained eyes.
 

"How long? What kind? Do you need anchors? Metric."
 

The plumbers usually make a beeline for the middle isle. The pipes are organized in buckets like galvanized seashells. Plumbers improvise. Put these pieces together and make something work.
 

"Water or gas? What size? An elbow."
 

The saws look on from the tools isle. Though they smile at the customers, sharp teeth don't scare away the determined. Mistakes with a saw are irreversible, but the only actions worth pursuing have high possibilities of failure.
 

"Are you finding everything alright? Can I answer any questions for you?"
 

The land of the keys is void of chaos. They hang from the walls, lined and orderly. The growl of the key-cutter shatters the peace of the store. Soon metal fragments sprawl across the floor, mounds of gold like snow piles. What was once whole has been broken. The key now has a purpose
 

"And your total is. We actually have a five dollar minimum. On the card? If you give me a penny, I'll give you back three quarters."
 

Ten minutes to closing and customers swarm. They come to this place hoping their solution is nestled in one of the drawers or resting in a box. Sometimes it is. And sometimes, the journey doesn't stop here. Sometimes, this place serves as a compass.
 

A gaggle of laughing children stomp through the store, clutching sticky quarters in their palms for candy and chattering excitedly about the metal parts aligning the walls.
 

There's a feeling. A sense of community and inclusiveness. Not everyone knows about the proper drill bits for metal, but that's okay.
 

The employees can help. Hardware is their art, their passion, and their medium.
 

"Have a good night,"
 

I say.
 

This place is awesome.