Leveling the Foot

Heard a rhythmic rattle coming from the kitchen corner. Didn't wait. Marched straight across the linoleum and ducked under the heavy overhang of the refrigerator. Dark down there. A plastic kick-plate had popped loose, resting lopsided against a threaded steel leveling foot. The foot was hovering a hair above the tile, buzzing like an angry hornet with every compressor cycle. I wedged my left shoulder under the corner frame, braced, and jammed my hook into the notch of the leveling bolt. Turned it. Metal ground against grit. Quarter turn, half turn, until the steel foot bit down hard into the floor. The rattle died on the spot. Cold air hissed above, but the beast sits dead flat now.