That week in May where every single gate latch was a different brand and none of them fit.
I spent three hours on a Thursday just grinding and filing to make a basic latch work on a cedar fence in Springfield, because the homeowner insisted on using these antique hardware store finds his grandfather left him.
oh man, I feel this one deep in my bones. My grandpa's hoard wasn't just hardware, it was like a museum of broken dreams. I swear I still find random capacitors in my pockets from helping him sort through stuff. But honestly, I'm probably gonna end up the same way with my own junk. Just give me ten years and I'll be the weirdo with a garage full of old phone chargers.