You can make book on the fact that I’m not a guy to sweep things under the rug. But you may be floored to know that I brought the hammer down on our latest home improvement project.

That’s why I had to clean my office of enough books to bury Moby-Dick so new flooring could be installed with the help of yours truly and my trusty hammer.

Actually, the hammer belonged to our contractor, Anthony Amini, who let me use it to pop a pair of planks in place.

It wasn’t the least I could do, but it was close.

The bulk of the work, which took a week, was done by Anthony, who owns Performance Contracting and Management on Long Island, New York, and his hard-working helpers, Victor and Narlin.

They ripped up the ratty old carpeting in four upstairs rooms — three bedrooms and the office — and replaced it with vinyl floors that are fresh, clean and, thanks to my hammering, which somehow didn’t result in pain or bloodshed, beautiful.

“I’m going to put you to work,” Anthony told me when the guys started their work in my office.

Little did he know how much work I had already done in finally cleaning the office of so much stuff — papers, pictures, CDs, DVDs, plaques, clothes, mugs, cards, envelopes, receipts and, of course, books — that I’m surprised I didn’t find the remains of Jimmy Hoffa in there.

A lot of it was on the floor, which was covered by a carpet so worn and frayed that it must have been installed when the house was built during the administration of Gerald R. Ford. Since the carpet just turned 50, I wanted to donate it to AARP, but I was afraid the organization would revoke my membership.

I had been cleaning the office in fits and starts — every time I started, I had a fit — for months. This was at the behest of my wife, Sue, who is neat, in both cleanliness and excellence, whereas I, to put it charitably, am not. If we ever won the lottery, we’d never collect the money because Sue would inadvertently throw out the ticket or I would put it somewhere in the house, probably my office, and never find it again.

The room had four large, overflowing bookcases, plus countless books lying around, just waiting for me to trip over them and hit my head on the floor, which needed to be replaced anyway (the floor, not my head, though Sue would opt for that, too).

I donated many of the books to my local public library. The vintage books, not including “Moby-Dick” (see above), were donated to an independent bookstore.

All told, I wanted to find good homes for my tomes, which not only is true but also rhymes.

With the office at long last clean, Victor and Narlin began moving furniture — a large desk, two filing cabinets, three chairs and two remaining bookcases — and ripping up the carpet. Then they started to install the flooring, which came in long planks that had to be hammered snugly against each other.

“Mr. Jerry,” Victor said, “would you like to try?”

“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll show you guys how it’s done.”

Victor handed me a large hammer with a head almost as hard as my own. I knelt down over a plank and gave it a couple of swift hits. When Victor put down another plank, I hammered it next to the first one.

“Good job!” Victor exclaimed.

Narlin agreed.

I let the guys finish the office and do the flooring in the three bedrooms, which now sport area rugs that I can sweep things under.

“You should write a book about this,” Anthony suggested.

“If you do,” Sue chimed in, “don’t put it in your office.”

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