When I got the email from a friend telling me she had given my name to this college girl who got credit for coming to my house to give a presentation, I thought I was doing someone a favor for school. So, even though it was annoying and it took up a bunch of time I didn’t have, I met with her.
As soon as she started her presentation, I realized I had been suckered. Or, I don’t read my emails carefully enough. Yes, she was a college student, but this was a job, selling high end cutlery door to door through recommendation. Think Avon lady with a knife.
I didn’t want to buy anything, but I could tell I was in trouble. First off, I’m a people pleaser. Second, I’m an idiot and third, I actually needed knives.
She started her schpeel and demo, cutting through a thick rope easily. Before she pulled out the aluminum can, I cut her off. “Listen, I know they’re good knives. Just tell me how much.”
Very smoothly, she rattled off numbers higher than my couch and dining room table combined. I maintained poker face. Oh yeah, I’d consider buying a set knives for a couple of grand. No problem. Was it the leftover cereal bowls and frozen pancakes on the table that gave you the impression I was a top chef?
Instead of showing her the door, I bought four knives for about $250. I know. What was wrong with me? Still, I justified that I needed knives, these were good ones and I’d never buy another knife as long as I lived.
Quickly, I realized how short that would be if I wasn’t careful.
The first time, I pulled a knife from its sheath to inspect it, I thought it looked pretty… dangerous. I turned it over in my hand, and when I looked down again my finger was oozing blood. What? I didn’t even feel anything. Crap.
The second time, I pulled out a knife, I just wanted to make a small tear in a plastic bag I was having trouble opening. This time, I felt it touch my finger, and knew without looking that the bag wasn’t the only thing with a tear. Yup. Gaping, gushing wound.
Bandaged on two fingers, I now assessed the knives skeptically. When my oldest asked for a sliced apple, I stared them down and walked on by. When my middle wanted his sandwich cut, again, I eyed my expensive cutlery but passed it up.
I was afraid of them.
My aunt was third to try a knife. Poor woman made the mistake of wanting a bagel. I said, “I have a serrated knife but it’s verrrrry sharp.”
“Don’t worry.” She said, a little too cavalierly.
“Seriously,” I warned. “Be careful.”
One minute later her finger was gushing. “The knife just touched me.” She said in disbelief.
The next day, I ran into a friend at the supermarket. “What happened to you?” She asked looking at my bandaged fingers.
“New knives.” I said sadly.
“Cutco?” She asked, naming the brand.
“OMG Yes! How did you know?”
She held up a hand with a finger bandaged. “Sliced the top right off. It’s just sort of growing back.”
Those knives were going back immediately.
I may have dull knives, but I am a sharp girl… who likes fingers.
Buh bye, instruments of death.
Icescreammama 