My kitchen knives haven’t been professionally sharpened since I took them to the mall in Bellingham in 1991. I wish I were kidding.
Sure, I have a home sharpener which I occasionally pull out of its hiding spot, but those knives are dull.
If I need to cut open a lime, for instance, first I have to stab the lime with the point of the knife so I can push the blade through.
One of my 19-year old sons has been begging me to get the knives sharpened. He looked online and found a shop with raving reviews and sent me the link. That was several months ago.
Finally yesterday I found myself with a few free hours. I decided to deliver the knives to the shop so they could be sharpened.
I put the address into my GPS, drove ten minutes and . . . found myself in a residential neighborhood. Was the knife sharpener guy working out of his garage? I don’t know but I was not comfortable with the idea of knocking on a stranger’s door with a bag full of knives, asking for help.
So I used my phone and found another knife sharpening shop, entered the address into my GPS, drove ten more minutes and . . . found myself in another residential area.
At that point, I posted on Facebook (from my phone) asking local people if they knew of a place to get knives sharpened.
As it turned out, my next-door neighbor left a Facebook comment and told me that a knife-sharpening guy is at the Farmer’s Market every Saturday. So I guess that’s where I’ll be on Saturday.
How funny, though, that all this technology–Google, my iPhone, my GPS–led me to my next-door neighbor. Next time I’ll just go into my backyard and shout over the fence.