Life From the Perspective of A Thanksgiving Carving Knife

(I wrote this in 2010 as part of one of my writing challenges, in which I challenge people how to write from different perspectives. I also wrote from the perspective of a Christmas Tree. This current month I’m challenging people to write from the perspective of Christmas Decorations. Details here. )

I thought for this one, "what would it be like to be a carving knife."

Happy Thanksgiving, for those who celebrate it, and have a good day, for those who don't.

I used to lead all types of writing exercises online. One of them involved writing from the perspective of part of a thanksgiving meal.

Seemed appropriate to share one of those POV exercises this morning and one tonight. For those who have not read my fiction prepare for bad puns, jokes, silliness and satire. So, you know, my goal is to spark smiles and laughs and an occasional "You are something else!"

Life From the Perspective of A Thanksgiving Carving Knife

Life as a carving knife is a tough life especially when you're a knife who is witty and punny and so in this sentence alone has already thought about three jokes (1 "life may be tough but if the meat is tough I can still cut because i'm a carving knife" -hey,I didn't say they were GOOD jokes, and, trust me, you dont want to hear the other two

The hardest part about Cutty's job was that he spent most of his existence in a drawer. He'd heard talk of people coming out of the closet and he wasn't clear what that was all about but he sure wanted to come out of this drawer. It wasn't just that he was not a fan of confined places and didnt like the dark and was just glad he was not as claustrophobic as his uncle earl but that he liked an audience. The silverwear in the drawer with him, well, they were worn out by his tired jokes (see, right there he would have punned off the wear-wore comment) and him thinking he was just so much funnier than he was.

He lived for those few days when he was able to go to work and do some carving and get some use. And when they washed him boy did that feel good. But most of the time he just lay there trying to figure out what day it was and how long it would be until he was put to use. What he didnt know was the other objects in the drawer were also looking forward to that day but mostly because they can finally get some peace and quiet for a few hours.

Tuesday

Cutty refused to tell me about one aspect of his life but an anonymous source whose name rhymes with poothtick agreed to talk to this reporter on the condition we scrambled his name.

From the outside the carving knife - born Charles the Cutter the 3rd but shortened over time to Cutty - looks tough, strong and without worry. But what Poothtick told this correspondent for Weakly World News was that inside that sharp utensil was one conflicted individual.

Cutty had two major issues he was struggling through during his weekly therapy sessions. (Ideally, the therapy would be daily but it's hard for toothpick, er, poothtick, to arrive with such frequency since he had to travel into the silverwear drawer by hitchhiking on the back of the other utensils.)

Cutty, you see, had performance envy issues. He was jealous of how often the other utensils were used - some were used daily, some weekly but he was only used on Thanksgiving and Christmas. It could be worse, he knew, he'd heard horrific tales of families who didnt even make their own holiday meals thus ensuring that poor carving knife was never used. Oy! It was enough to make one truly question the reason for ones own existence.

In his case he tried to tell himself that it's not how often he's used but the quality of the job. I'll let him you tomorrow about that. But still he hated to see the others used so often. When the drawer was opened he practically shouted, "Put me in? Let me out! Is it November?" but no, they were just grabbing spoons for cereal.

The therapist told him to meditate and he did. He would try to focus on the things he can control and not fret about those he could not. He had memorized the Serenity Prayer. But still Cutty had his doubts and worries.

Oh, how he would wish some days that he was born a fork or spoon - then he could be used regularly. But he was not born that way and we're not even going to go here into those who believe one can choose what type of silverwear one is.

So that was one of his main issues in silverwear therapy (s.t. for short). His therapist wants him to join group therapy to admit these things to his colleagues who are also in the drawer but he's not ready to take that big step yet. It's a recurring New Year's Resolution he makes but doesn't follow through on.

His other issue is the enormous performance anxiety. Sure, as he'll tell you, he does a hell of a job, but during the days leading up to Thanksgiving and Christmas boy does he worry. He's lucky if he gets 18 hours of sleep a day on those days and nights (everyone knows a piece of silverwear functions best when he/she gets 20 hours of sleep.

He's tried all kinds of mental preparation - closing his eyes and walking (whatever that is, he's not totally sure) through the cutting procedure, saying "I am one with the meat i am cutting," etc but nothing so far had stopped the worries

Wednesday

Thursday, is the big day. As if he hadn't been agonizing or worrying about that day for weeks, there was the annual pep talk held by Coach. (Coach is a pair of salad tongs which, due to his size and dexterity, bosses around the others.) He held the usual ceremony complete with inspirational speeches and reminders of everyone to "take their places, cut what needs to be cut, spoon what needs to be spooned... mistakes will not be tolerated." It was also left unsaid what would happen if someone messed up but it's well known that one spoon which did a sub-par job was "accidently" dropped behind the dishwasher and never seen again.

Coach also walked them through the schedule. The good - or bad - news (it's all on your perspective, was the schedule had been pretty much the same year after year: The person tasked with making the meal would start pulling out the silverwear at about 10 a.m., some would be layed out on the table as early as noon, others not until 2. The big important moments - the moment of truth for Cutty - happened about 3:15 pm.

Cutty had been trying breathing exercises all day as well as some meditation but he just couldn't focus well enough. It wasn't just that he thought the therapy ideas were silly and wouldnt help him but also that there was too much noise in the drawer. For some of the newer silverwear - they didn't call them virgin preferring the more innocent term first timers - were nervous and chatty and talkative. As usual the spoons were pretty quiet - they literally fit snugly together - but the forks and knifes were full of chaffing, gossiping and chatting.

Complicating matters was the matter of a rumor heard: That the family was seriously considering having someone else make the food. If that were too happen they would all be skipped this year and if that happened again for Christmas maybe the home occupants would reassess if they needed a carving knife. Could he be tossed aside like yesterday's newspapers? It was the kind of rumor he wished he had not heard but it was not one more thing to worry about.

Yes, Cutty was nervous and worried.

Thursday

After all his worrying Cutty fell asleep at about 11 pm and woke at about 8 a.m. when he was picked up and placed on the dining table. This was earlier than usual which caused him to have what would be heart palpitations if he had a heart. He sweat a bit which appears to look like condensation. He counted the place settings and noticed there was one miss and he realized someone in the family must have died. He sighed. But over at the kids table there was a new setting so someone must have been born. Ah, the circle of life, Cutty said, one dies and one is born. While contemplating this he fell asleep again.

When he came to he saw the mammoth turkey near him. Wow, that was quite a piece of meal. He began psyching himself up - "Who's the baddest cutter around? I am! Who rocks? I do! Who's the sharpest knife on the block! I am, yeah, i'm bad," etc.

Then it was showtime - everyone sat down and he saw the new face of the new baby and figured out who had passed - and then the mother of the house picked him up. She smelled nice - she must have switched perfume.

She held him over the turkey and while she thought she was doing the work HE was convinced he was the one who did the magic. Cut, slice, cut, jab, cut, slice - they say it's like riding a bike, whatever a bike was - but it's true that it all came naturally after the first slice or two.

Everyone was served. He didn't drop or spill or cut anything that wasn't meant to be cut. She received all the usual compliments for her good cutting and slicing and he was ok with that - they didn't know, he'd long since realized, that they didn't know he could hear them.

He smiled. He'd done good. He looked over at the salad tongs and coach nodded that nod that said "you done good." He began to relax, he watched them all eat happily and knew that now he can look forward to the other part he loved of the holidays - getting washed up. When that stream of water hit him just right it was quite a thrill.

He watched them some more and then did what they always did after the meal - fell asleep.