I do a lot of drilling. Here in France, we don’t do “drywall.” Some people do, but they’re not keeping it real. Here in the heart of Gascony, we’re all about stone and concrete. Often, tile is placed over the walls for whatever reason. Our kitchen has tile. Above the tile, I’ve been going a little “grundtal” crazy with Ikea’s hanging rack thing-o things. Today, I hung a floating shelf (A Björk or Snork … can’t remember the name). Brent bought some pansy petal drill bit that fits in our drill used by mortals. The bit is especially made for drilling holes in tile. Okay, I have a shelf. It needs to be placed in the tile. I’ll use the special petal bit. I remove my screwdriver bit because that’s all I’ve ever used the sweet, little Ryobi for and place the new tile bit in. I drill. I drill and drill and drill. A teeny, tiny hint of a hole is forming. I drill some more. At last, I think I see a hole in the tile, but not enough room for a screw, let alone a plastic screw inner holder thing. Okay, fuck this … I’m getting my hammer drill. Two seconds, boom-boom-boom, done. In the ten minutes Ryobi drill is still coaxing the tile to acquiesce, I’ve made the holes, screwed the screws, hung the shelf and ready for more action. I love my hammer drill. I can’t believe I’ve lived this long without one.