Hey, Karl, if you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose?
“Huh?” said Karl, looking up from his mobile phone. “What was that?”
I said, don’t you think it’s rude when people are engrossed in their phones when they’re spending time with another person?
“No, you didn’t. You said something about cheese.”
No, I said something about moving. It’s also rude to be on your phone when you’re with another person.
Karl and I were at First Editions, the literary-themed bar, for a late afternoon lunch. We had both ditched the people in our lives who told us not to eat cheeseburgers and drink milkshakes so we could do exactly that in peace.
I was doing some real damage to a BBQ bacon cheeseburger, and Karl was halfway through First Editions’ famous mushroom-and-Swiss gut buster. (But if my wife or Karl’s daughter read this, we were eating salads.)
“Oh, lighten up, Kid. I was checking the battery level on my phone. I’m at 18% right now, and I want to make sure I don’t lose power.”
Don’t you carry a spare power pack? Or a charging cord? There’s a socket right here next to the table. Just plug in and juice up.
“I, uh, I don’t have a charging cable with me.”
What? Are you serious? You’re so over-prepared for everything! How could you not have a charging cable? I reached into my backpack and handed him mine. He plugged in and visibly relaxed.
“I’m not over-prepared!” he protested once he was sure his phone wouldn’t die.
Oh, yeah? How many pocket knives are you carrying right now?
Karl took a bite out of his cheeseburger and took an extra-long time to chew it.
Come on, come on, I said. I was used to this delaying tactic.
He chewed some more and took a drink of his Coke. He brought the burger up to his mouth, and I said, “Ah! Ah!” like when my dog is about to poop on the floor. He stopped, mouth open.
“Fine,” he said. “Three.”
Three? Who needs three pocket knives? Who even needs one pocket knife?
“Well, one is my favorite because I’ve had it since I was a kid. Another has a screwdriver.”
Because you never know when you might need a crappy screwdriver? He ignored me.
“And the third one has a corkscrew,” he continued.
A corkscrew? I half-shouted. Kurt, the bartender, looked up from the glass he was polishing and shushed me.
Oh, calm down, Shushie, I said. No one else is here. I turned back to Karl. Tell me, have you ever used that corkscrew?
“No, I have a regular corkscrew at home. I tried this one once, and it just broke the cork.”
And you carry it in case you have an emergency that requires a broken cork?
“No,” Karl sulked. “Now you’re just making it sound dumb.”
Oh, sure, I’m making it sound dumb. Why can’t you get a single knife with a screwdriver and a corkscrew? I took a drink of my Coke and asked, How many lighters are you carrying?
Karl raised his cheeseburger back up to his mouth again. Ah! Ah! I said.
“Two,” he said, putting his burger back on the plate.
Two? You don’t even smoke, why do you need two lighters?
“In case the first one runs out of fluid.”
From what, burning all your broken corks?
“Hey, there are plenty of times I could have used a lighter.”
Like when?
“Well, when I needed to melt the ends of a nylon rope.” He crammed in another bite of his cheeseburger before I could snap at him again.
That’s actually a good usage, I said. How many times have you done that in the last year?
Karl chewed for several seconds again before he took another drink and mumbled, “Two.”
Two? You carry two lighters, and you’ve only used one of them twice? Or did you split the workload between them so they didn’t wear out?
“You know, I’m sensing a little sarcasm from you.” Karl pouted. “My father taught me to be prepared, and that’s a lesson I took to heart. I have my favorite everyday carry items in my pocket, and I never leave the house without them.”
Yeah, and your pockets bulge bigger than a little kid’s stealing an entire candy store.
Oh yeah? You never know when you’ll face an emergency in the wild where you need a screwdriver, a corkscrew, or a source of fire.
The wild? You haven’t left the city limits in eight months, let alone been in a forest. Why can’t you just leave all that stuff in your glove compartment instead of your pockets?
Karl ducked his head, embarrassed.
I sighed. How many lighters and knives do you have in your glove compartment?
“I don’t know,” he said. “They’re buried under all my bungee cords and shop rags.”
