Once upon a time, there was this guy, a typical Joe Averidge. He wasn't rich or famous, nor was he a genius at anything. Just one of those guys who get out of bed every morning and put their pants on the same way we do. In this case, Joe was a retired blue collar worker, and enjoying his well earned life of leasure. Like alot of us, he carried a little pocket knife.
Now Joe was not a knife knut. He'd never read a knife magazine in his life, and if you mentioned knife collecting to him, he'd have thought you crazy. After all, who would want to collect a simple tool? Crazy.
But, Joe knew he needed a pocket knife for everyday things, and he'd grown up in a world where a man who had pants on, had a knife in a pocket. In Joe's case it was a simple two bladed pen knife about 3 inches or so in length. Two blades at oposite ends of the knife made a slim unnoticed package in the pockets till needed. And being a man who used tools, he kept it sharp. It had been with him a very long time, and the blades were a soft grey color, and the bone handles were worn almost smooth. The jigging in the bone were just small indentations. But as worn as the knife was, Joe would never have thought of buying another one. Why buy a new knife if the old one is still servicable?
This morning he got out of bed early, sat on the edge of the bed smiling in anticipation the fishing trip. He was going to get together with some of his other retired pals for a day out at the river. He got ready to go, gathering up his gear and stealing out of the house without waking his wife.
Meeting at the 7-11 down the road, the old friends greeted one another with good natured jibes, while enjoying coffee and a donut. When Joe went to lift up the little plastic tab on the coffee lid, it tore off uneven, not leaving an opening to drink through. Joe took out the little pocket knife and made two slits at 90 degrees to each other and cleared the drinking hole.
Later on the river bank, the penknife cut bait, trimed monofiliment line, and sharpened a forked stick to hold his rod while he swapped lies with his buds. When he went to smoke his pipe, he noticed the bowl was a bit caked up, so he used the smaller of the blades to ream out the crud. The little knife was wiped off and returned to the pocket with no fanfair. It was a good afternoon, and a stringer of panfish was his to take home. The penknife gutted them there on the river bank, and an old bottle cap did duty as a scaler. He knew the better half took a dim view of fish scales on her granite counter tops.
Later that afternoon back home, his wife greeted him, and admired the catch.
"I'll cook them up for supper, honey. Get me the flour under the cabnet will you? " she asked him.
He found a new unopened bag of flour, and used the penknife to slit the heavy paper along the top. The sharp blade whispered though the heavy paper with hardly any effort. A paper bag, and salt and pepper, and golden brown fried fish made a good dinner. A bit later, Joe was sitting on the wicker lounge on the front porch, and he took a little twig and whittled a toothpick. His wife came out and joined him in the pleasant warm evening.
"Maybe we should take a ride down and get some ice cream." he told her.
"You tryin to pick me up mister?" she asked playfully.
"Heck yeah. Git in the car little lady and I'll buy you a root beer float. Two scoops."
Off they went, cruising down to the ice cream parlor in town. Buying their floats, they sat down at one of the wooden picnic tables. Joe's wife was trying to open the slick cellophane wrapper of the long straw, but her arthritis was foiling her. Joe took his penknife and slit the wrapper open.
"My hero!" said his wife jokingly. She kissed him lightly. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, 'babe!"
Later that night, getting ready for bed, Joe emptied his pockets on the dresser, and paused, looking at the little pocket knife. Opening the blade, he felt the edge, then took out a small stone from his sock drawer and gave it a few strokes. Joe liked good tools, and he liked to keep the little knife sharp.
But Joe still had never looked at a knife magazine, nor was he even aware there were such things as knife shows. But if someone had asked him why would he carry a knife in this day and age, he'd have thought them crazy. After all, Joe had grown up in a day when a man had a pair of pants on, there was a knife in the pocket. Sometimes there's a dozen times a day, a little sharp tool is handy to have.
Now Joe was not a knife knut. He'd never read a knife magazine in his life, and if you mentioned knife collecting to him, he'd have thought you crazy. After all, who would want to collect a simple tool? Crazy.
But, Joe knew he needed a pocket knife for everyday things, and he'd grown up in a world where a man who had pants on, had a knife in a pocket. In Joe's case it was a simple two bladed pen knife about 3 inches or so in length. Two blades at oposite ends of the knife made a slim unnoticed package in the pockets till needed. And being a man who used tools, he kept it sharp. It had been with him a very long time, and the blades were a soft grey color, and the bone handles were worn almost smooth. The jigging in the bone were just small indentations. But as worn as the knife was, Joe would never have thought of buying another one. Why buy a new knife if the old one is still servicable?
This morning he got out of bed early, sat on the edge of the bed smiling in anticipation the fishing trip. He was going to get together with some of his other retired pals for a day out at the river. He got ready to go, gathering up his gear and stealing out of the house without waking his wife.
Meeting at the 7-11 down the road, the old friends greeted one another with good natured jibes, while enjoying coffee and a donut. When Joe went to lift up the little plastic tab on the coffee lid, it tore off uneven, not leaving an opening to drink through. Joe took out the little pocket knife and made two slits at 90 degrees to each other and cleared the drinking hole.
Later on the river bank, the penknife cut bait, trimed monofiliment line, and sharpened a forked stick to hold his rod while he swapped lies with his buds. When he went to smoke his pipe, he noticed the bowl was a bit caked up, so he used the smaller of the blades to ream out the crud. The little knife was wiped off and returned to the pocket with no fanfair. It was a good afternoon, and a stringer of panfish was his to take home. The penknife gutted them there on the river bank, and an old bottle cap did duty as a scaler. He knew the better half took a dim view of fish scales on her granite counter tops.
Later that afternoon back home, his wife greeted him, and admired the catch.
"I'll cook them up for supper, honey. Get me the flour under the cabnet will you? " she asked him.
He found a new unopened bag of flour, and used the penknife to slit the heavy paper along the top. The sharp blade whispered though the heavy paper with hardly any effort. A paper bag, and salt and pepper, and golden brown fried fish made a good dinner. A bit later, Joe was sitting on the wicker lounge on the front porch, and he took a little twig and whittled a toothpick. His wife came out and joined him in the pleasant warm evening.
"Maybe we should take a ride down and get some ice cream." he told her.
"You tryin to pick me up mister?" she asked playfully.
"Heck yeah. Git in the car little lady and I'll buy you a root beer float. Two scoops."
Off they went, cruising down to the ice cream parlor in town. Buying their floats, they sat down at one of the wooden picnic tables. Joe's wife was trying to open the slick cellophane wrapper of the long straw, but her arthritis was foiling her. Joe took his penknife and slit the wrapper open.
"My hero!" said his wife jokingly. She kissed him lightly. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, 'babe!"
Later that night, getting ready for bed, Joe emptied his pockets on the dresser, and paused, looking at the little pocket knife. Opening the blade, he felt the edge, then took out a small stone from his sock drawer and gave it a few strokes. Joe liked good tools, and he liked to keep the little knife sharp.
But Joe still had never looked at a knife magazine, nor was he even aware there were such things as knife shows. But if someone had asked him why would he carry a knife in this day and age, he'd have thought them crazy. After all, Joe had grown up in a day when a man had a pair of pants on, there was a knife in the pocket. Sometimes there's a dozen times a day, a little sharp tool is handy to have.
.
What are you trying to sell us, jackknife!? 
