More than a few weeks ago, I had to catch a flight at oh dark hundred on a Monday morning. I had a meeting at noon and a dinner with clients that evening, so I was suited up. But the return trip the next day was jeans and a golf shirt. I packed my carry on Sunday night at the last minute and just threw the jeans I'd worn that day in the bag. Fast forward to 5 am and the TSA guy grabs my carry-on and says, "We need to search your bag for weapons". It didn't register with me until he pulled out my knife...a cheap little barlow pocketknife that my late grand dad gave me when I was 7. My heart sank.
I ended up mailing it back to myself for $12, but I've been worried about losing it and never seeing it again. It came today. I'm even happier than I was when I found it the other time I lost it.
It's all beat to hell from me losing it in the barn when I was bedding hogs one winter (I was 12) and then finding it again 7 years later when I was home from school. It was caked in crap and rust. I cleaned it up as best I could and have carried it nearly every day for the last 24 years. The only time I haven't had it in my pocket is when I have to fly, except that one time.
I ended up mailing it back to myself for $12, but I've been worried about losing it and never seeing it again. It came today. I'm even happier than I was when I found it the other time I lost it.
It's all beat to hell from me losing it in the barn when I was bedding hogs one winter (I was 12) and then finding it again 7 years later when I was home from school. It was caked in crap and rust. I cleaned it up as best I could and have carried it nearly every day for the last 24 years. The only time I haven't had it in my pocket is when I have to fly, except that one time.