1) The stud-finder worked like a charm, but when we tried it in another part of the ceiling, it indicated the joist was following a sort of river-bend pattern, as if it were made of some pliable non-joist-like material, such as whatever formed the skeletal structure of Gumby and Pokey. I then decided finding the joist would require the British Petroleum Method: Exploratory Drilling. I am proud to say, I managed to locate the joist after drilling only four holes in the ceiling. I put in the first two screw-hooks, satisfied how firmly they bit into the wood above the sheetrock. “This is a cinch,” I told Nancy. “We’ll have this rascal knocked out in another five minutes.”
When we hung the pot rack from the two hooks we’d drilled into the joists, it swayed to and fro like a front porch swing. Every time Nancy added or subtracted a pot, the thing began to rock back and forth. It was like watching a pot rack in a galley on a pirate ship during a heavy storm. I will not go into the full and tedious adventure of solving this problem except to say I ended up drilling about six more holes and we had to hang the pot rack from purpose-bought hooks rather than the ones that came with the kit. Also, the two hooks that went into the joists, those turned out to be unusable and had to be removed. In other words, Nancy’s skillets, pots, and pans are hanging from the ceiling, held up by nothing but sheetrock. Now there are ceiling anchors, don’t get me wrong. We may be stupid, but we’re not crazy. But I know better than to go around bragging about my omnipotence in the matter of pot-rack-hanging. As far as I’m concerned, once is the maximum number of times you want to prove the existence of God per project. So any time I see those matte black and shiny black and heavy, heavy, heavy cookware hanging from the ceiling, I think, “God is good. God is good. God is good.”
1. Nancy didn't think it was funny, either.