My Swiss Army Knife Story
While driving home on HWY-26 a futon mattress pad flew off the truck in front of me and tangled itself in my driver’s side tire. Once my tire/the cushion started smoking, I pulled over and tried to yank the cushion out of my wheel axel. As hard I pulled, it wouldn’t come out.
With my trusty hot-pink pocket knife in hand, I began to hack away at the cushion. Once the padding from the cushion started to fly, two concerned citizens pulled over to help. The first, a petite nursing student dressed in her turquoise scrubs, and the second, a spry sliver haired grandfather by the name of Tom Benet.
The nurse started to call her husband to bring us a larger knife, but Tom said that my trusty pink knife could do the trick. Sure enough, after 15 minutes of careful cutting and pulling, my wheel was free of the lost mattress pad.
Out of all the people who passed me on the side of the road, it wasn’t the macho men and the big knives that came to help; instead it was two unexpected heroes and a tiny pink pocket knife.
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