I want to write a short story about my new bookcase. It doesn’t seem like much of a subject, but wait…! This bookcase is a labor of love, fabricated by a close friend with her new table saw. I love the fact that a delicate, petite woman can wield a tool as well as any man. It is no fantasy story. It is a true-to-life tale of satisfying a need by drawing upon all your own resources. What is interesting is how my friend acquired the saw. Most women don’t own them and they aren’t given as gifts. My friend is not a novice at woodworking having taught high school shop. She went to the school one day to borrow the saw to make my custom bookcase. It would house all my precious books—and I have many! The saw was missing and she deduced that it had been stolen. She was miffed for herself and the students who would have to go without.
She spread the word but no saw reappeared. She prayed to the gods of construction and hoped to find a solution. She didn’t have the money at the moment to replenish the missing gear s she would have to be practical. She knew that there was a job going on nearby remodeling a rundown house. She stopped by allegedly to watch the millwork being fabricated. She started talking to the foreman and then the artisan who didn’t mind taking a break from his work. It was at the end of the day and stopping time was approaching. She didn’t want to lose an opportunity. “Tell me about your saw,” she asked. “I need one and perhaps you can guide me to a reasonable source.” “Sure,” he answered, giving her a long look. She winked and he smiled. A connection was there.
“In my trade,” he added, “people are always disposing of old tools. It’s not that they aren’t good but that a new model has just come out.” “Tell me more,” she uttered, trying to squash her excitement. “Take this one here,” he explained. “I’ve had it for some time and it works great but I have been pining for an updated model. Are you interested in purchasing it?” My friend was aghast, but then suddenly she feared a hefty price tag. “Used equipment is cheap,” he said, calming her down. “Think about it,” he crooned, “and perhaps we can have dinner tonight to discuss the details.” “Oh yes” was her response. At seven sharp the two of them were to meet at a local café.
My friend liked the wood worker and didn’t feel that she was under duress to trade a table saw for a date. It was just a lucky encounter, the kind we all hope to have from time to time in our lives. She arrived early and was seated at a table with a view of the door. At ten past seven, the craftsman walked in toting a box. He handed her the mystery container, which she opened promptly. Inside, was a replica of the table saw and a sign that read “the real one is yours.”