Stuff

Well, I went to work today, after a weekend from hell. There was a Pirate Gathering that has been advertised statewide for months this weekend, and being the only period tavern, we were flooded with pirates (I hate the word 'argh!' now). They came in draped in polyester, called themselves reenactors, and proceeded to act like asses, because, hey, pirates were assholes, right? But hey, everyone had fun, no one was hurt, and I made a killing in tips, so I'll call it a wash.

Anyway, so I went into work at 8am, after 4 good hours of sleep because I closed the bar the night before, and my supervisor Greg had a project for me. I was in carpentry today, and we needed a new gate built for the entry way to the sight. I was kinda less than thrilled about a serious project after a long night, but I got to work, and I got into what I was doing. The design turned out great, and the blacksmith made a set of pinnels for the hinges, as well as some large clench nails for hardware. We hung the gate, and everyone said they liked it.

Greg came by after we hung it and pulled me aside.

"Bet you're pretty damn tired, huh?"

"Well, yeah, you could say that."

"Think you woulda fallen asleep if I hadn't given you something to work on?"

I thought about it, and realised he was right. "Yeah, probably"

He smiled. "See? There's a reason I got you to sweat today. You were so busy, you forgot you were tired, didn't you?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I did!"

"It looks great man. You did a good job. Thanks."

"No problem Greg. It feels good to do something productive."

"Yeah. Hey, I got you a going away present." He pulled a knife and tomahawk from his bag. "here"

The tomahawk is Amish made, and it's the highest quality. the steel bit goes all the way back to the eye of the head.

The knife he forged himself. It's made from a lawnmower blade, and has a heavy spine. It's a primitive bowie pattern, but the only thing primitive about it is the design. Greg is a Master Knifemaker. The knife will still be useful after I die. It's superb craftsmanship, and I feel honored that he would make a knife specifically for me, as a gift.

And he remembered I was left handed when he made the sheath!

My throat got a little tight. I fumbled a quarter out of my pocket to give him, lest the knife cut our friendship.

" Thanks, Greg. You have no idea what this means to me."

"No problem, man. We're gonna miss ya."

I'll miss them too.