Making a deal with Wrong Willie
"What are you doing?" Wrong Willie asked, walking unannounced into my garage and heading straight for the rack holding my rods and reels. "Hey, there's a lock on these. I can't get them out."
"Right," I said. "I put the lock on them after you left the last time with my new bass rod."
"Is that the one I brought back the very next weekend and thanked you profusely for the loan?"
"Yep."
"I don't see it here on the rack."
"I took it down to Dub's to get the tip glued back on."
"Well, the rod was a little long anyway for the reel you had on it. What are you doing?"
I held up a saw. "Cutting a piece of wood."
"Thought so. Why?"
"Saving money," I told him, knowing he'd understand. Wrong Willie is so tight his billfold has a zipper on it.
Immediately interested, he abandoned his lock-picking attempts and joined me at the work bench. "What are you building?"
I pointed at a photo in a mail circular. "That's a wheel stop chock for my trailer. You see, when I park the RV for a weekend, I want it as stable as possible. I don't like for the fifth-wheel to shake when I walk in it."
Willie recently purchased his own bumper pull camping trailer, so he understood. "That fits in between the two wheels on the trailer. Right?"
"Yep," I said. "This one point of the triangle points down, and the one on the other piece points up. This threaded rod runs through the middle and pulls them tight against the wheels, and that won't let the trailer rock back and forth."
He studied the wood clamped in my vice. "Those are orange in the photo."
"They're made of plastic. I'll paint them orange after I'm finished, if it'll make you happy."
"Why are you building them," he asked. "These in the flyer are only $20."
"I can make them cheaper."
"How much did the threaded rods cost," he asked.
"$3 each. The wood was five, because it was marked down in the 'return bin' at the store."
"So you're up to $11," he said. "You could have bought them cheaper."
Then I stopped, because he was right. "Well, this is still monetarily cheaper."
"You had to have bought something else at the hardware store," he said. "C'mon, fess up."
"All right, I had to buy a new package of hacksaw blades to cut the rods to length."
"Right, and let's see here. You had to buy washers, nuts and a handle to turn the whole thing," Willie said, ticking items off on his stubby little fingers.
I put down the saw and stared at the empty spot in my fishing rod holder, thinking how nice his head would look mounted on the wall.
"Don't forget gas up there and back," he said. "I bet you needed a sliding bevel to make the angles."
I sighed. "Yep."
"Hey, didn't you buy a new set of metal wheel chock for your rig just last year? Why are you making new ones?"
"Those didn't fit. The wheels were too close ..."
"I'll take them," Willie said and immediately began to rummage around on my shelves.
I thought about skewering him with the nearest handy object, but then decided that another form of punishment would better suffice. "Hey, you can have them if you'll do one thing for our Colorado trip."
"Sure," he said, greed overcoming his mental problem-solving abilities.
"You can make all the calls and book the guides."
"Done," he said.
I cackled and pointed to the wheel chocks, knowing that the hardest part of hiring a guide is the interview process. He could do that while I paid just $20 for a pair of first class, manufactured orange wheel chocks.
It was a good deal.
Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is reaviswortham@att.net.
Share this story:
Google
Yahoo
digg
del.icio.us
facebook
Slashdot
