The Nice Boy with the Knife

Last night, I attended a pre-graduation potluck with my senior friends and their families. I had every intention of baking something myself, but then a haircut, terrific pickup basketball game, eating chicken, and an extended nap got in the way. I went to the grocery store to see if anything tickled my fancy at the last minute, but instead of ingredients, I found a ready-made Boston cream pie and bought it, along with some pink cake writing gel which I used to scribble "Happy Graduation Ohmguh."

Thinking ahead, I brought the largest knife I could find with me to cut the pie. Holding the pie with two hands, I rested the knife atop the pie container as I slowly shuffled out of the house. Jessica admonished me for carrying it so dangerously, but I couldn't figure out how to approach the situation better and continued with my method all the way to the car.

After driving to the potluck, en route to the building, I placed the huge knife in my pocket, which was probably also dangerous, but at least not noticeably so to passersby. As soon as I walked into the room with the pie, Allison greeted me with a hug I couldn't quite return with my hands full. Ey asked me to meet eir family, so I sat the pie down on the table and began to shake hands and alternate between "nice to meet you" and "good to meet you." Hello, Allison's mom. Hello, Allison's dad. Hello, Allison's brother. As I went to shake Allison's grandmother's hand, a thought struck my mind. "Oh wait!" I exclaimed, then I pulled the large knife out of my pocket and held it upwards by the handle...

Before we move on, I need to make sure you are picturing this scene properly: I formally greeted a friend's relatives. About to shake eir grandmother's hand, without a more substantial warning than "oh wait," I whipped out an oversized knife. From the looks of it, I pulled a knife on an elderly person.

The immediate reactions were gasps and looks of fear. That included one on my own face, realizing how insane and perhaps homicidal I must have
appeared. After attempting to hold the knife in a less threatening manner and explain that I had brought a pie and forgot that the knife was in my pocket, I managed to coax the family into a state of awkward laughter, and after some more of my patented self-depricating humor, perhaps even genuine laughter. (Although perhaps they merely faked it well to appease the knife-wielding stranger.)

If there were a hall of fame for worst first impressions, I would be an instant inductee. Fortunately, once the weapon was away, I apparently charmed Allison's family enough into liking me. When I inquired what they said of the incident later, Allison said they ultimately found it funny and referred to me as "the nice boy with the knife."

What a hysterical reputation I established for myself. Hearing that almost made me want to stab Allison* just to read the inevitable newspaper article with a quote from Allison's mother: "I can't believe the nice boy with knife was capable of such a thing!"

* for the record, no, not really