It’s even a Hon! But let me explain.
Back when we were packing to move (like, three million years ago), we donated our flimsy, small “filing storage system” to the local thrift shop. We needed a real file cabinet, we decided, and our new town, with three colleges and a variety of secondhand stores, would be the perfect place to find a bargain.
Friday morning I started working the phone and found three stores with cabinets. At the first, a surplus outlet, the selection was fancy and not exactly what we wanted. At the second, they were defunct. At the third–well, we would stop there right before getting back home, but they’d said they had only one cabinet and so our odds looked about zip.
“Let’s go to the office supply store,” I said to M. “Maybe we should just buy a new one instead of spending all of our time looking for an old one that we probably won’t ever find.” She waited in the car with the sleeping N–“I’ll be back,” I told her–while I found the perfect cabinet, a store-brand model just like the above-mentioned Hon, for $159.99.
I reported back to M and said, “Let’s just get it. We’ll be glad for it, and it will last us a long time.”
“Okay, whatever,” she said.
I returned to the store and to the file cabinet section and stood before the floor model, a little sobered at the prospect of buying such an expensive piece of furniture just, as M once said, “for keeping stuff in.”
In my moment of hesitation, a little nudge prompted my soul, and I walked back out to M again, empty handed. “We can just rearrange the stuff in our desk drawers, and figure something out,” I said. “That was too expensive.” I can’t remember her exact comment, but it suggested that the world might be coming to an end–I’d passed up a chance to buy something.
With the lightness of heart that comes from listening to one’s still, small voice, I drove our car out of the parking lot and towards home.
As I slowed to cross a railroad track, M suddenly said, “Hey, look at that sign! ‘Back-to-school sale! Desks, white boards, footoons (footoons?), file cabinets, more!'” I swerved into a gravel lot and waited for a cement truck to drive past, and then pulled into the store’s parking lot.
“I’ll be back,” I told M.
It was a little grimy business with a sign that said “print shop.” A raggedy man bringing in the mail asked if he could help me.
“I’m looking for a two-drawer file cabinet,” I said. “Do you have any?”
He motioned to a binder with printed pictures. “That’s what we have in the warehouse,” he said, and then spoke to someone in a back room. “Rodney, are there any file cabinets out there in the warehouse?” He turned back to me. “Go across the railroad tracks, and Rodney will meet you out there to show you what we have.”
I drove to the warehouse and got out of the car. “I’ll be back,” I told M.
Rodney let the way inside the huge old barn, and then pushed open a huge sliding door, to let in light. A conveyor belt leading to the second story graced the center of the room, decked out with a platform for hefting furniture and surrounded by dusty, piled office furniture. We toured through dim shadows until we found the file cabinets.
None were even close to suitable.
“Let me check upstairs,” Rodney said. “I’ll be back.” He disappeared into the shadows and I could hear the stairs and then the floorboards above me creak and groan. When he came back down, he said, “There’s one, but it’s small.” I followed him back up.
From the moment I saw the cabinet, standing there among rolling office chairs and four-drawer cabinets, I knew in my heart it was the one for me. It was kind of like the first time I met M, but without the distractions of other, similarly featured options. It was a genuine Hon, exactly suitable.
“I’ll sell it to you for $35,” Rodney said.
“Wow!” I thought to myself. “What a find!”
“Twenty-five dollars,” he said. “You can have it for $25.”
“Wow!” I thought to myself again. “What a steal!” In order not to appear too eager, and curious if he would make yet another offer even before I’d said anything at all about the price, I examined the drawers and the dented side. After a minute or two, and still trying not to jump up and down or pee my pants from excitement, I said, “You said $25? I’m a little concerned about this dent.”
At the same time, I remembered that I had only twenties (no fives) in my wallet. I opened it up and looked inside it. “Hmm, no fives,” I said. “How about $20?”
“Sure,” he said, and helped me carry it out to the car.
I could hardly contain my elation until driving out of Rodney’s earshot before bursting to tell M all the details, and now our files are properly stowed.
