A Simple Misunderstanding On Elm


Fred was third generation door to door salesman. His job had taken him to many streets in this great country but none quite like Elm. Perhaps, one day he could settle down. Open a small hardware store. Then ‘THEY’ could come to him instead of him dragging around a heavy bag of knives from house to house. No more traveling. No more dirty hotel rooms. No more doors slammed in his face. No, at his store, Fred could do the door slamming.

As he approached the first house he opened his bag to make sure he had brought ‘Big Boy.’ That is what he called the Quikut 2000. We know it today as the Ginsu knife. But in 1968 it was Quikut. Fred pulled the knife from it’s sheath and inspected it. He caught his eyes in the reflection of the blade.

Fred had great big ole saucer eyes. His mom called them “kind eyes.” Bobby Flincher called them “bug eyes.” “Fuck Flincher” Fred thought out loud.

He returned Big Boy to its place in the bag. “Everything has a place and everything in its place” he could hear his father say. A rule that had served Fred well over the years. Even if it had pissed him off as a child.

As Fred zipped his bag shut he felt a sharp sting in his knuckle. “Shit!” Fred unzipped the bag and pulled out a glove with knives attached to the fingers. He inspected the glove to make sure no damage had occurred to his baby.

His baby was an old leather work glove that Fred had riveted sheet metal and fishing knives to. The jury would recognize it as exhibit B.

Freddie, as his mom would something call him, pulled the glove down tight on his hand and wiggled the fingers. A smile began to appear on his face. “This baby here is the future of cutlery.” “I’m going to do for food prep what indoor plumbing did for shitting.” “Every Mom in America is going to be wearing one of these babies and chopping up onions, carrots, tomatoes…you name it…in record time. It’s going to be a revolution!”

Marge had been watching Fred from the pulled back curtain inside her home. She was currently on the phone with her husband, Lt. Thompson. “Hurry.” she said.

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