The Jar of Orphan Screws
On Saturday, Farid's father handed him a glass jar that rattled like a box of tiny bones. "Sort these," he said. "I am tired of digging through them every time I need one."
The jar held screws, bolts, washers, and nuts, all jumbled together. Farid groaned. It looked like the most boring job in the whole world. He set a muffin tin on the garage floor and began dropping pieces into the cups.
At first he sorted by size. Soon he noticed that two screws of the same length might not match at all. One had thin, tight threads, and the other had thick, coarse ones. He sorted again, this time by the shape of the head. Then he sorted by color, silver in one cup and brass in another.
By noon the muffin tin looked like a rainbow of metal. Farid had also found something else in the jar, a short brass screw with a flat, wide head that did not belong to anything in the garage.
Then he remembered Grandma's wooden chair. It had wobbled ever since one leg screw went missing. Farid carried the brass screw to the kitchen and turned it with a screwdriver. It slid in as if it had been waiting for years. The chair stood perfectly still.
His father laughed. "It looks like that jar of orphans finally found a home."