HOW TO MOP THE FLOOR

I was arrested in university for stealing bacon from a supermarket. Inexplicable really. It is punishment enough to have to type that sentence decades later. But as part of my sentencing then, I was assigned to work for a local museum for 25 hours. The curator I reported to was a retired master chief in the Navy. He was either gristled or bored; I was too young to know the difference. The first thing he did was assign me to mop the new cement floor in the basement. He showed me where the mop was; I filled the bucket with hot water. A quarter of an hour later, I was done. When I told him that, he looked like he’d been hit in the head with a foul ball. He could not take the squint out of his eyes. He walked downstairs, looked around, then kicked over the mop bucket. Water spread to every corner of the floor. “Up,” he said, and I must have given him a blank look because he then gave me a clarification, which seemed to exhaust him in the telling. “Mop it up.” It took me an hour to get that water, soaked into the mop, then wrung out into the bucket. Blue-black and nasty. This time the master chief seemed to be able to condone my presence at the work end of the mop. But he wanted step two. “Now swab it down,” he declared. So I got clean water, mopped in a semi-organised pattern till the floor reflected light, which was the idea, or so I thought. This time, the master chief seemed happy. So naturally, he kicked over the bucket once more. “Do it again,” he said. And so the pattern of my twentyfive hours was set; I mopped for ten afternoons – up, down, again – until I’d paid my debt to society. On the last day, the master chief bought me a sandwich, which was the first time he treated me as anything other than a bacon thief. “At least you know how to mop,” he said. Then he repeated the steps, throwing up a finger for each one. Mop it up. Swab it down. Do it again. That’s never left me. The best instructions are easy to remember. The best lessons are hard to forget. I’ve taught a dozen others since then. Because I can really mop. – T. C.

Reverse-, or left-hand-threaded objects go against your righty-tighty instincts. They’re used to keep nuts and bolts that rotate counterclockwise from working themselves loose. JONATHAN JARVIS My dad would take me into the forest near our home, pick out a big tree and clean out every little leaf or twig that would make a sound, place an old piece of carpet on the soil to keep dry, and sit down. Within thirty minutes, the forest would come alive. He taught me to remain silent, move very slowly when I needed to, and just listen and watch.” Jarvis is the director of the National Park Service. > Gather everything in one area so that you know exactly what you’re working with. Stare at the luggage pile for 15 to 30 seconds, looking pensive. > Is one of the items to be packed a cooler? If so, it is your cornerstone. Place it in the bottom-left corner. > Work from the hardest luggage to the softest, the biggest to the smallest, the heaviest to the lightest. Stack heavy hardcase luggage horizontally. > Work in layers, working your way up to the smallest, lightest, most fragile items. As you go, fill any gaps with oddshaped or small stuff. No gaps. That’s the goal. > Take one last look at the boot. If at all possible, put your wife’s bag on top – better to keep things from wrinkling. Make sure she notices.

BONUS PACKING TIP! If the roof has rails, but no rack – which is common – make one by tying planks of at least 50 x 100 mm crossways across the rails. Tie them tight. Now you have a roof rack. Just remember: the built-in rails are stronger than your planks, so fasten luggage directly to the rails. Safe travels.