forkin crazy
As I watched my brother Ben nonchalantly take his silverware tray out of his dishwasher and dump it into his silverware drawer, I audibly gasped. How could he be so cavalier? This was going to take 20 minutes to fix! Everybody I know – even rebels and hooligans – stack their silverware in neat little rows in trays. I now feared for the sanity of my younger brother.He saw the panic on my face and said, “Yep. Been doing this for about three months. Pretty awesome, huh?”
I couldn’t speak. Did he say awesome or awful? My obsessive-compulsive brain, which might be even more obsessivey-compulsivey than most folks, was sounding off alarms in my head in a deafening roar. I muttered something that sounded like a high-pitched “Whadjuh? Howdjoo?” while staring at the closed drawer.
Ben gave me a knowing glance and opened the drawer back up, revealing the array of scattered chrome, just as I had feared. “Find me a fork, brother,” he said.
I found a fork. Then another. Then another. I found all the forks, stacking them in a neat little interlocking stack in my hand as I went, intending to help my brother sort this back out. But it shocked me how fast it went. When you’re looking for a specific shape in a little two-by-two foot area, it’s not hard to find. He explained, “I know this sounds crazy, but you won’t believe how much time it saves.” It was then that I realized how much of my life I’d wasted needlessly sorting forks, knives, and spoons into neat little stacks.
So I became a believer. I went home, took the tray out of my silverware drawer, and then flipped it upside-down with great satisfaction. Then I slammed the drawer shut and did the double fist pump in the air.
Let’s do some math. The two minutes it takes to distribute from the dishwasher tray into the appropriate little slots is time that adds up. Two minutes a day, 14 minutes a week, 730 minutes a year. That’s a total of 12.16 hours — MORE THAN HALF A DAY STOLEN AWAY FROM YOUR LIFE EACH YEAR. That is the face of insanity. Not my face.
At first, I kept my new silverware religion a secret. When people came over, I usually got forks out for everybody, so nobody ever needed to know about my little Drawer of Chaos. But over time, I grew prouder of my incredible amazing efficiency. I showed my inner circle, who each responded with great distress, as I had similarly done in my younger, unenlightened ways. Now this is the very first thing you see on the tour of my house. I drag people into the kitchen, whip open the drawer, and yell “Check this s*** out!”
Maybe my alternative silverware lifestyle isn’t for everybody. Maybe some people need the comfort of knowing that each of their forks is all facing the same way. I won’t judge. But the next time you’re sorting your utensils into neat little stacks, maybe you’ll imagine yourself flipping the tray upside down, slamming that drawer shut, and then fist-pump in the air.
Hell yeah.