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Tales from the ArcaMax Chef


I went outside with the reluctant boat salesman from the boat store for people who couldn’t afford a boat. He sniffed around my boat and took note of some of the features. The unhappy fellow took out a tape measure and made a few measurements in silence. Every time I tried to help him, like trying to hold the other end of the tape measure, he would glare at me and huff and puff like an old steam engine. I didn’t know fixing up my boat was going to be such an unpleasant experience.

Suddenly, he turned and wordlessly headed back to the shop. I didn’t know if I should follow him or whether I had just been fired from the boat fixing process and should leave. I decided to take my chances and follow him.

Once inside he did acknowledge my presence by barking at me to hand over the registration. I told him it was my brother’s boat and that I didn’t have the registration yet. My brother was going to sign it over to me when the current registration expired.

For the first time, the reluctant boat man showed some emotion. “You are going to pay money to fix up a boat you don’t even own?” he exclaimed. “What kind of a person would do that? What if your brother takes it back after you have paid to fix it?”

I suddenly felt sorry for the reluctant boat dude. Not only was he stuck in a job he obviously hated, but what kind of a childhood must he have suffered through where you couldn’t trust your own brother’s word over an old boat.


“I am willing to take that chance” I explained. “I just want to get the boat fixed up so I can go fishing. My brother will probably go with me and will be happy to see the boat fixed up.”

He looked at me incredulously and walked over to where some of the motors were stored. This was going to be a difficult process.

God Bless America.




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