Tales of a locksmith

I finally got a locksmith to come to my house--and what a locksmith!  One of nature's  noblemen, when he arrived he informed me that my outside tap needed to be shut down.  He then shut it down, coiled up the hose, and deposited it in the basement.  Then he shut off the inside faucet or whatever you call the doohinky that if it freezes your pipes would burst.  This was before he had done any locksmithing at all.

I have zero sales resistance, so he managed to sell me five (5) locksets  for all my exterior doors.   They cost a lot.

He went out to his truck to get his invoices and business cards.  Meanwhile, I cut my finger trying to cut some limes in half.  I managed to drip a fair number of drops of blood on the floor in the kitchen and bathroom before the locksmith put a BandAid on my finger.

Wait--there's more, as the television pitchmen  say.  I had heated some chicken morsels in the oven and managed to eat one while he was out in the truck and nearly choked to death.   This invaluable tradesman pounded me on the back until I had disgorged the remnants of chicken, thus saving my life.

Then he took some wipes and wiped up the droplets of blood from the floor.  Did a good job, too.  Now that's what I call locksmithing!