I am, by unanimous acclamation the repairman, builder and general overall tool man in my family. It is always something I have loved to do. When Beloved Father was dismantling something in the garage, I was there to hand him the proper tool. When he paneled the basement in glorious faux-wood 1970's paneling, I was there to hold the board while the electric saw sailed swiftly through the wood.
In contrast, my three brothers, Larry, Curly and Moe couldn't drive a nail with a Buick. Although they are generally three of the most intelligent men I know, they completely lack the 'tool' gene. Fortunately for Baby Sis (although an engineer herself) she married Mr. Krinkles who is also a whiz at anything mechanical. The talents of Brother 5 are still under scrutiny at the moment.
I took this love of building into school and applied it to architecture for three years before running out of money. Hence the retail career. I have always strived to learn more along the way including playing with electricity and plumbing, sometimes to My Beloved's dismay. But never-the-less, I could still build a house for you.
Even in my early years of driving I would do most of the repairs on my fine Torino by myself with advise along the way from Father and the auto-parts store clerks. I gave that up when engines became so complicated you couldn't get your hand into anything and you had to take off five pieces to get to the spark plugs. Sometimes you just have to let the pros do it. Fortunately my son is a mechanic.
So what is the point of all this, you ask? Namely, the person who invented the damned 'pack-and-play' should be shot, drawn-and-quartered then drug out to a field and beaten with a hose! I hate the thing! It doesn't work! UP, down, spin, lock, unlock and clip...aaaarrrrrrgggggg! The sides don't latch, they buckle, the ends lock but the sides don't then the sides lock and the ends don't!
Wow, I feel somehow better now.