Knife Fighting

Yeah, that’s right; you heard me… I got into a knife fight this weekend. And I won. That is how crazy and exciting my Saturdays are, for real.

Picture this: I’m walking downtown like a badass with my big Cutco chef’s knife by my side. At least I think it’s called a chef’s knife; I don’t really know what that means. I tend to use whatever knife I can find when chopping anything. Steak knife. Carving knife. Bread slicing knife. Whatever is handy in the knife drawer.

Before I proceed with this story, I have to say one thing: Cutco knives are the greatest things since popcorn and sliced bread. Back when we were poor newlyweds, we had a friend who was selling Cutco knives for a living. He came to our house and did a demonstration, and he somehow suckered us into buying a set, which we in no way could afford. And afterward, I was sick to my stomach with buyer’s remorse, thinking about the number of paychecks we had just traded in for a set of knives we didn’t even know we needed. But, darned if those Cutco knives haven’t worked better and outlasted any other knives we’ve ever owned. I am not being even remotely facetious or sarcastic when I say these knives were one of our best investments, ever!

Fast forward to this weekend— here I am, carrying my whatever knife in a makeshift knife box (don’t ask), and I am walking fast, with purpose in my stride. Because I’m heading to a big event, you know. A knife-sharpening event. (Like I said—my Saturdays are pretty darn exciting! Are you jelly, people?) [Please take note of the way I just used “jelly” as an abbreviation for “jealous.” That is how hip, youthful, and cool I am!] So, I’m kind of rushing because it’s already 2:00 and the Facebook invite said the knife sharpening madness ends at 3:00.  I strut into the kitchen boutique, which is humming with the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard-like sound of knife blades being run through a sharpening machine by a professional knife sharpener. And I’m so excited! It’s really about to go down! This poor knife, which has served me well for about a thousand years, is about to get some new life breathed into it, a treatment that is long overdue.

In fact, I overhear the professional knife sharpener lady telling a customer that knives should be professionally sharpened once a year. Mine has not been professionally sharpened since the early 1990s. Just add this to the long list of things that I’m just finding out are supposed to be serviced annually which I’ve been neglecting for decades. For example, did you know that you’re supposed to get your garage door springs tuned up and lubricated every year? If you did know this, and if you actually lube up your garage door every year, I would just like to say: “Bully for you.” And also, something else that starts with “Bull.” Because you are clearly full of crap. But I digress…

So, yeah, I’m excited. I’m eagerly anticipating having a newly-sharpened blade to chop my peppers or my chicken or whatever the hell I’m supposed to be using this knife for as I cheerfully plop it on the store counter and say, “I’m here to get my knife sharpened!” Sadly, this is when I encounter the poor young lad who not only has the misfortune of being employed by a kitchen boutique and having to wear a bright green apron to work, but has also been given the unfortunate task of informing customers like me that, “I’m sorry, but we have a backlog and we are no longer accepting knives for sharpening.”

Wait. What? This cannot possibly be true. I’ve taken time out of my day to drive around the block in circles until a parking space opened up. I’ve brought my $2 for charity. I’ve followed the event’s only two rules: “1. No serrated knives. 2. No scissors.” I’ve shown up an hour before the event is supposed to end. If you think I’m going home without a fight as well as without a newly sharpened knife, well…

Just as I am opening my mouth to say something totally badass, like, “Oh. Okay,” and turn and walk out of the store, never to return again, some older woman, who is much more badass than I am, shows up with two knives in a bag, and she is not shy about expressing all the same indignant thoughts I am stifling inside my brain… I join in with some tough head nodding and supportive comments, like, “Yeah! That’s right! The ad said 3:00!” Until finally, Professional Knife Sharpening Lady overhears all the commotion and tells Apron Boy to back off, buddy, and let these crazy women get their g-d knives sharpened, before they cut you! (Okay, maybe not in so many words. But he was intimidated.)

And that’s how I came out on the winning side of a knife fight. Let me tell you, it was worth every bit of discord and conflict that I had to endure on an otherwise sunny and carefree Saturday. I came home and tried out the new blade, which I think I now need to give a name like “Bessie” or “Billy” or something cool, because this thing now chops like a BOSS. It’s a thing of beauty. I didn’t even realize what I was missing.

And that’s also how you people have come to endure this as my first blog post in over a month, a 950-word description about one of the most mundane events that could possibly happen on a weekend in a college town. Sorry, I’m afraid this post doesn’t get any better. That’s all there is. I had to get back into this somehow, right? Welcome back, dear readers.