Cabinet Restoration

We have this antique cabinet, Louis XIV, I think. Or "Louis Quatorze," as my aristocratically-pretensioned grandmother always used to insist. Never knew how it wound up in my family. Maybe someone traded it for his head, or maybe it was just borne on the "deluge." In any case, it was beginning to look a bit peaked, and I decided it was time for a restoration.

I'm afraid I don't know much about antiques, and even less about cabinet makers, so I decided, for safety, to go with the guy who advertised most often and most loudly on TV. He said he was really good, and they wouldn't let him lie, would they? Later, I would wonder just who "they" were.

Anyway, his name was Earl, and he rolled in on a wave of confidence commensurate with the noble status that name might imply. Later, I would wonder if I had assumed the wrong definition of "confidence."

"Looie Kat-worse, is it?" he chattered conversationally. "Old Europe stuff, huh? Don't worry. I'll soon fix that."

That didn't sound exactly right to me, but he was the expert, and I didn't want to interfere. The restoration went on for months, and good money followed ... other good money. I thought the job was getting a little expensive, but it wasn't until my wife asked (rather pointedly, I thought) if the cabinet should be "in that many pieces" that I started to get concerned. Still, Earl was the cabinet maker ...

And then he accidentally cut off his own left arm. I figured it was time for a change. I mean, the mess alone ...

So I kicked Earl out and called up another guy I found in the yellow pages. His name was Duke, so I figured he out-ranked Earl. Duke agreed to meet with me to discuss the restoration. But I was in for a surprise. Earl showed up at the meeting.

"Don't trust this guy," warned Earl. "Look at his plan! It's way too expensive!"

"You charged me at least twice as much to demolish my cabinet," I pointed out.

"But that was money that went into my pocket," replied Earl. "That's entirely different!"

"You very nearly destroyed my cabinet," I said reproachfully.

"Had to do that to save it," he replied without blushing.

"And you cut off your own arm," I concluded.

"Merely a flesh wound," said Earl. "Caused by inferior equipment. I've had it replaced."

"The equipment or the arm?" I asked.

"Both," replied Earl triumphantly. "See this great prosthetic arm I have now? I can do anything with it. In fact, it's better than the old one. Watch this!"

He pulled out a hammer with his prosthetic left hand and proceeded to smash the thumb of his right hand.

"Can't get good tools these days!" he howled, jumping around like a rogue pogo stick and sucking furiously on his blasted thumb.

At least, that ended Earl's intrusion into the meeting. Duke prepared to work on what was now a cabinet reclamation project, and I hoped that I had seen the last of Earl. No such luck.

When Duke arrived at my house to begin work, there was Earl.

"No!" screeched Earl. "No, no, no, no, no! He's doing it the wrong way!"

"Wronger than yours, you mean?" I asked. "Don't see how he could make it worse than you did."

"It wasn't my fault!" whined Earl. "I did everything right. It just came out wrong. That was someone else's fault. I'm the only one who knows how to do this right. Here, watch!"

And with that, Earl whipped out a saw with his prosthetic left hand and sawed off his right index finger. That was more blood to clean up, but at least, he had to go to the emergency room again, and that got him out of our hair for a while.

I was very disappointed when Earl showed up again the very next morning.

"Now, look," I said to him, not unkindly, "you're running out of digits. Don't you think it's time you gave it up?"

"Never!" he screamed. "You can't do this without me! I have the experience! I have the expertise! I'm the only one who's fiscally responsible!"

With that, he pulled out a punch and managed to poke out his own right eye. At least, no one could say Earl pulled no punches.

I'm pleased to say that, following the requisite trip to the emergency room, Earl's latest shenanigan landed him in a very nice mental institution. Still, I am uneasy. He seems to have acquired internet access, and the importunate emails have begun. Can his release be far behind?