The Junk Drawer

Growing up, we called it the scissor drawer, a perfunctory name my mama gave it as the home of that most-sought-after item, the scissors. Of course, that drawer was home to many other objects that we crammed in there that otherwise wouldn’t have had a logical place to live, but the scissor drawer—known to most of you, I now know, as a junk drawer, was the reasonable place to store such valuables. Doesn’t everyone have a junk drawer? I like to think so.

I got curious for no particular reason if junk drawers were a Southern thing, and it tickled me to research and learn (the internet can be useful!) that people all over the place not only have these type drawers, they tweet, post, and brag about them and defend them with gusto. I found one man advocating a need for a junk drawer in every room of the house (seems a bit much, but to each their own), and one philosopher wisely pontificating that “Sometimes life is a junk drawer.” Truer words have never been spoken, ma’am. I’ll buy that t-shirt in a size medium.

Over the years, I have resisted my junk drawer. I’ve gone to the Container Store and bought caddies and organizers, I’ve straightened and tidied and fretted over it, because I am type A (plus) and I like to have a place for everything and everything in its place. But sometimes the place for things is: the junk drawer. Our drawer, no matter if it was in our first apartment right after we got married, our starter home where we lived for over a decade, or the house where we live now, has always been located in the kitchen. Maybe that’s why they say the kitchen is the heart of the home, because that’s where most of us have our junk drawer.

Besides the scissors (the captain of the proverbial ship), I feel that the drawer simply must contain some form of spare change, glue or adhesive, a tape measure or three, and then a good random smattering of objects as if someone smashed open a pinata of life right into the drawer. For our house, that includes my address book (I still use a real, paper one), note pads in every shape and size, pens that indicate what exotic travel we have accomplished in every locale from the local veterinarian to the Hay-Adams hotel in Washington, DC at least a zillion years ago, not to brag, but BRAG, and office supplies we have no doubt pilfered from Clint’s cubicle pre-pandemic. Phone charges abound, as do wallets, unopened mail on occasion, grocery lists I inevitably write and then leave in the drawer rather than actually carry to the store, a calculator, and other treasures and household necessities. It’s a junk drawer and a vault, to be honest.

I’ve straightened and organized it on occasion, but the junk drawer is chaos. That is its purpose.

I did come to a sort of dreaded realization last week that we have managed to accumulate not one, or two, but three of these type drawers in a row in our kitchen. This is alarming given that we have lived in our home for just two years now and have managed to reach a three-drawer level of junk, but I should have known it would happen. The real estate flyer when our house was for sale pointed out that the kitchen had two islands for “maximum storage.” Maximum storage, at least for my family, is a fancy way to say lots of junk drawers. We now have the standard issue scissor drawer, a drawer that has sprung up next to that which houses completely logical items for kitchen use such as extra birthday cards, face masks and filters, a selfie stick, a bouquet of dried flowers, and some pictures I have not gotten around to putting in a photo album as of yet. Move over to the last drawer in the island, take a deep breath, and experience the wonder of cocktail napkins. Funny napkins, holiday napkins, monogram napkins. Oh, and coupons and gift cards and takeout menus (most of which are expired and/or obsolete but still, inexplicably, linger like old memories in our drawer). Need a birthday candle? That drawer houses enough for someone turning 119, so you’re in luck. Our dog is 18 months old, but we still have all his puppy training literature, which is handy for something, I’m sure. Yes, junk drawer #3 is a real treasure trove.

We are definitely capping the number of junk drawers at a maximum of three.

I realize I’m being braggadocios about my three junk drawers. It’s probably giving you envy if you are just a single junk house, isn’t it? Or maybe (gasp!) you don’t have a drawer where you store all your old batteries, masking tape, thumb tacks, spare keys, and rubber bands? Never fear. If you have a drawer, the internet will happily sell you a junk drawer starter kit, which goes to show you really can buy anything online these days. I could probably send you all this junk for free, but where’s the fun in that? Behold, the Junk Drawer Starter Kit:

For just $22.99 on Etsy, you can junk up a perfectly clean drawer!

The “handy” little kit says it is perfect for first time homebuyers, apartment renters, or college students and comes with some drawer filler like matches, batteries, scissors (duh), tape, a pen—although I would recommend a junk drawer minimum of no less than five pens or you will look like a novice, rubber bands, and a screwdriver. Ooh! Aah! Junk!

When I started writing this post, I was considering reducing the amount of junk we have accumulated, but what with junk starter kits for sale to the masses, I realize now that would be rude of me. Who am I to get rid of something that other people are having to do without? It would be ungrateful. You learn something new everyday, and so today I have learned to be appreciative of my junk drawer, er, drawers. Happy is the life filled to the brim with magnets, toothpicks, receipts, and a box cutter. It’s basically our time capsule of memories and meaninglessness, and that’s kind of what life is all about. Well, that and wondering how you accumulated so many birthday candles. Life is a junk drawer.