My friend Chris was truly one of a kind. He put lots of passion in his personal projects, all of which were related to simple utilities. I know, seems silly. After all, you take them for granted and use them every day. They don’t really tend to fail you, so what gives? Well, they could be better. That fork could pick up crunchy food, your spoon could be easier to grip, those pesky dishes could be easier to wash, all that jazz. Chris wanted to have a company that was fully committed to his cause, to make everyone’s life easier, even if just a little bit.
Unfortunately, I am speaking in past tense. Chris contracted lung cancer, and it didn’t take long for it to consume him. It was therapy after therapy, absolutely horrific to watch from the outside. I can’t even begin to imagine what he was going through, likely knowing he wouldn’t ever be able to achieve his dream. He wanted to give me something, but it was too late for him. I had to get it from his mom, and I could tell she was absolutely crushed by it. Her own son wasn’t even able to deliver his last gift, he died not knowing if I got it. The gift was a kitchen knife, and I don’t think I’ve used another knife for the last two years. On the left side of the handle, I could see a small, yet bold inscription: “Designed by Chris in Seattle”. On the right side: “For you, Peter”.
Two years in, I was cutting some onions. I was still using that exact same knife - it was that reliable. As soon as I was done however, I tried to put the knife away, and failed miserably. The knife slipped, and falling knives have no handle, so I backed out, watching the knife fall like it was in slow motion. As soon as it hit the floor, the handle popped out, and the rest remained intact.
“How weird,” I thought. “Did he really make the handle detachable? Why though?”
I picked up the handle, wondering how on earth I was going to fix the thing. I was dumbfounded, I had the thing for 2 years and didn’t know about what probably would’ve been one of its headlining features. Just sliding the handle back in didn’t work - the parts just didn’t “connect”, if that makes sense.
I looked into the handle, flabbergasted by how weird it was. There was a little hole, wide enough to accommodate the actual knife… and more. I realized there was a small piece of paper inside of it. I took it out carefully with a trustworthy toothpick, and started reading.
“Broken tool? That’s too bad! Luckily, you can reach out to us and get it repaired right away! Just drop a call.”
There was a phone number below the text, with a smiley face at the end. I expected it to be Chris’ phone number, but it looked nothing like the number I had in my contacts. I was really intrigued, so I decided to drop a call. Worst case scenario would be disturbing some guys who ended up with that number. I put the number in, and placed a call. I waited for just a few seconds, when I got a response.
“Hello and welcome to Chris’ Toolbox!”
My heart dropped instantly. I just couldn’t believe it. It was actually his voice. He had already set up a phone number for his company with an automated message and everything! And he didn’t tell me for some reason? Whatever, I was just happy to hear something from my deceased friend, even if it sounded like it was coming from some damaged old microphone. I hadn’t felt so happy in 2 years.
“Broken tool? Questions? Need a guide? Want some offers? Look no further! Wait for a bit and one of our support agents will come to the rescue!”
This just couldn’t be fake. It sounded exactly like Chris, it was genuine, full of energy. I stayed on the phone listening to that same message for what felt like hours. I was really happy to hear anything from my old friend.
…
Click.
“Hello, how can I assist you?” said a rusty voice.
My heart dropped. Was I really speaking to a support agent? Who would even bother watching over some defunct company’s support number?
“Hello sir or ma’am and welcome to Chris’ Toolbox, what do you want today?”
I was dead silent, waiting for anything to come out of my mouth. I didn’t know where to start. It was like I randomly got dropped into a nightmare, where I had no control over anything.
“I’m sorry, I’ll have to hang up if you don’t reply within a 5 second window…“
I was extremely nervous, already feeling like gallons of sweat were dripping down my spine.
“I NEED A REPAIR!”
I did need a repair, so that just came to my mouth. On the other hand, I obviously should not have said anything. I was kicking myself mentally for having such a big stupid mouth.
“Okie dokie! What tool is it? Hammer? Saw?”
“…n-none of what y-you m-mentioned, it’s…”
“Go on…”
He paused, perhaps waiting for me to speak. I didn’t know what the right choice was. Should I be honest? Say I got the wrong number and hang up? Just hang up and hope for the best? I felt sick, I was frozen, trying to take a decision.
“I’m too deep into this”, I thought, so I decided to be honest. “What could go wrong”, I thought…
“I… dropped it, and t-the handle popped out…”
“Ahem… I only remember asking you… WHAT. TOOL. IS IT?”
I was shaking in fear and sobbing, could barely hold the phone. This wasn’t Chris, he wouldn’t talk like this, specially not to his friends. This had to be a prank…
“K-knife…”
Whoever was talking to me hung up. I was crying on the floor, I just wanted it all to end, I sat on the floor for minutes, hoping it was a bad dream I would wake up from. But it was real. I KNEW it was.
…
Ding.
I got a notification from the number I called earlier. It was an address and a message.
“Come here, within the next hour. Otherwise, I will come to you. And Peter… you better bring the knife”
I didn’t object, I wanted to stay alive. I looked at the address, it wasn’t so far away. I picked up the knife and handle, then put them in a small bag. I pasted the address into Uber, and saw… I had already… saved it…
“Chris’ place”