A Tool and The Television

``Step up to the counter good sir!''

``Why would I be bothered with the likes of you again?''

``Ah, you don't understand much, do you good sir? This is the best multi-tool that money can buy, being able to provide a blade that never needs sharpening, and a screwdriver that will never be twisted out of shape. Take a look at this fine blade! It comes in three different sizes too! At the low low price of one hundred dollars, you can now have this exquisite multi-tool...''

``Yes, yes, I see what you are showing. But I'm a mere office worker---why would there ever be a need for me to use a multi-tool like that? Wouldn't that just be a fleecing of my money?''

``Glad you asked! The answer is no, since you can use this multi-tool in ANY and I do mean ANY circumstance, in those little moments that you need to screw in a screw tighter or even to open that bag of chips that you so desperately want to eat...''

``Jimmy, what are you doing now?''

``Huh mum? I'm just watching the television... it's one of those `infomercials' that is showing and there's nothing on.''

``Well, if there's nothing on, why are you still watching it? You should be cleaning your room---I've been asking you do to do that for ages already.''

``Yeah, yeah, I will do that soon. Darn, I've already missed most of what the informercial is saying...''

Tom munched on his chips as he was watching the sitcom that was on. In spite of all the hype, he found it very monotonous, with too much dialogue and having a lack of character development of any sort. It was infuriating---a Saturday night and all the television programmes sucked that much.

`At least this one sucked less than that silly quiz show on the other channel,' he thought to himself as he pushed another handful of chips between his already munching teeth. He had thought of calling Sally out earlier, but decided at the last minute not to because he was still afraid that she wouldn't be interested in actually going out to have a dinner with him.

Tom's cellphone rang. Grunting, he fumbled his way from the couch to find it, and in his haste pushed the remote control down to the ground. With a ridiculous sounding pop, the remote fall neatly into two while the volume of the television soared.

Cursing under his breath, Tom finally found his phone and stabbed the call accept button, only to find that he was a little too late. Muttering more unspeakables, he picked up the two pieces of his remote from the ground and retrieved a multi-tool from the side of his couch and screwed the two halves together, before hitting the volume key to bring the volume down to a more manageable level.

``Jimmy! Your room! Now!''

``Yes mum! I heard you...'' Jimmy said grudgingly as he peeled himself off the television and headed upstairs to his room.

``Don't forget the new bag of mothballs!''

``Yes yes! Stop being such a nag!''

``What did you say? I can't hear you!''

``Nothing mum!''

Jimmy reached out for his multi-tool on his writing desk and extended the medium knife blade to cut an opening in the bag of mothballs that he picked up from the alcove near the stairs he was climbing.

``So, good sir, would you be interested in buying this multi-tool?''

``Well, I suppose it can be useful some times... but I think that a hundred dollars is rather steep.''

``Alright, tell you what. I will offer it to you for eighty, and no less! Eighty for this wonderful piece of engineering to ease your life?''

``Well... I suppose I can use a nice multi-tool for eighty...''

``Thank you good sir! Here's your multi-tool. Nice doing business with you!''

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 27 Oct 2009 19:26:35)