Mr. Jones is my next-door neighbor. He is probably in his late fifties and he is good natured and an all around nice guy. I have talked to him numerous times and him and I seem to have clicked. He is a good neighbor to have next door.
His garage is converted into a wood shop and he has all kinds of cool tools and gadgets. He keeps himself busy building garden railways, tracks, and trestles out of wood. Last week I needed some precision cuts on a piece wood and I asked him if I could use his table saw.
“No problem.” He said and he offered to do the cuts for me.
As he was lining up his saw and adjusting the height levers we started talking about all of his tools. He was telling me what saw does what and the finer points of changing the thickness of the blade to make more accurate cuts. He talked about a few other tools as well and then he stopped in mid sentence and he said, “But the most important thing a man needs in his garage, above all else, is a good vice.”
And me, being me, could not help myself. I tried. I really did. But I could not stop myself. And I said, “You’re not talking about hookers or drugs are you Mr. Jones?”
He stopped fiddling with the saw and turned towards me with a puzzled look. There was an awkward pause. He pointed over to his workbench at the table vice. Then something in his head clicked and a big smile crept across his face. He shook his head and chuckled.
“I just got that. You’re funny.” He said.
I like Mr. Jones.