This is another story in the continuing (mostly factual) saga of my Cousin Ollie. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, and speaking of tool sheds...
There was the time Ollie went out to clean the garage at Mom's farm. The shed was a tiny little place, barely room for the little station wagon parked with its bumper up against a big metal work table and the tall red tool chest - you know, the industrial type on wheels with a big lower section and smaller upper one. Mom's husband, Bob, tends to leave his tools scattered from here to Kingdom Come, so Ollie was wandering around gathering up armfuls and putting them in the appropriate drawer. Pretty soon he had nearly every drawer open and a bunch of tools gathered.
And that's when it happened.
While Ollie was bent over picking up some escaped wrenches, the big red box finally overbalanced and started teetering over on him. He heard it coming and made a leap under the big steel table. It probably saved his life, but now he was trapped under the table, his forehead pressed so hard against the station wagon that the Wisconsin license plate logo was impressed on it for a couple days, and his plumber's crack held nearly a full set of sockets.
The tool box weighed in at about a ton even after half the tools spilled out and Ollie wasn't exactly in a position to exert much leverage. It took him nearly two hours to figure out how to push the drawers in with his feet until he could crawl out the tiny hole he made.
It only took Bob about two minutes to screw the tool box to the wall (after he laughed himself sick).
Poor Ollie. But while he was under the table he did find that set of Allen wrenches Bob lost a couple years ago.