Jack Mathers operated a small motor repair and implement rental shop just outside of Blaine. To say he took advantage of the small market was an understatement. He met every customer with a grin, a chuckle, and dollar signs tattooed on his retinas. I once rented a roto-tiller from him. . I have a tendency, myself, to count pennies and get my share of any value set before me. I carefully watch the clock so when I was three hours into the tilling job, I felt satisfied that I could return the machine within six hours, therefore, evading the more costly 24-hour rate. Then, a wheel went wobbly. . A nut loosened and dropped . . . somewhere. Likewise, a washer. After a half hour, I found the nut. After an hour, I gave up on looking for the washer. I was young, and had not yet amassed a ration of nuts, bolts, and washers, yet. So, I called Mathers. . I lost a washer on the axle, I said. . You lost the linchpin too. He said. . What? . The pin that slips into the hole at the end of the axle . . . Holds on the nut. Well, come on out. Ill give you a new washer. Youll have to pay for the linchpin though. . I went to the tiller to see, from the other wheel, what a linchpin looked like. Then, I spent another forty minutes combing through the tilled clumps of clay. Luckily, I found the pin . . . in good shape! Im now, getting close to the six hours, and decide to go to the hardware store and buy a washer. . TWENTY-FOUR CENTS!!! . Yep . . . and one for the governor. He replied proudly. . As I fished out the quarter, I looked at the lone washer on the counter. I laid the quarter next to it. They looked to be equal size. . Keep your damned washer! I said. . I went to Bob Hensons house, a couple of blocks away. He owned a drill press, and was more than happy to drill a hole in my quarter . . . after we had a beer and I told him the hardware story. . Ill give you a washer. . . right here. He said. . Naw . . . Wouldnt be the same. . So. I put the wheel , the quarter washer, the bolt, and the linchpin together and had just enough time to get back to Mathers. I loaded the machine onto my Ranchero. Pulled up . . . fifteen minutes to spare! . The sign read . . . CLOSED. . I sat, looking at the clock I could see through the window of his shop. It said I had ten minutes. I started to steam. I could see Jack, sitting at his breakfast nook . . . eating a sandwich, avoiding the anger darts spewing from my eyes. . I went back home. I tilled. Retilled. Tilled again. I tilled until it was dark. I tilled in-between shots. I tilled whatever rock I could find. Nothing broke that machine. . Mathers had my bill ready when I returned at the stroke of opening time. Fourteen dollars and ninety-eight cents! . As he inspected the tiller, he saw the quarter. . Yknow, I wouldve given you one. . . see ya found the pin. Here, let me adjust your bill. . Twenty-one cents? I questioned. Thats the discount? . . . Cant you see the quarter? . I only charge twenty cents. He said.
Posted on: Wed, 26 Mar 2014 13:28:37 +0000
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