PUDDLEWACKY

Daily A~Musing #2:  GERBER TOOLS

Many of you are probably scratching your head, muttering, “Gerber tool?  What the…is that some kinda fancy baby food jar opener?”  Soldiers and those who associate with them are smirking, secure in the wisdom of how deserving the Gerber is of recognition as a bestower-of-happiness.  (Okay, okay…I know some of you are debating Leatherman prowess, but that’s on YOUR blog, so work WITH me here.)

The Gerber Tool is a brand name multi-tool gadget that looks kinda like a pocket knife on steroids.  Pictured below is my personal favorite incarnation of The Glorious Gerber:

(Gerber Compact Sports Multi Toolàin black, of course, so you can execute covert operations)

So what, you say?  SOOoooOO...this handy-dandy item can peel an orange, unscrew the covers of my furnace vents, open bottles and pick locks.  Yup, I said that.  It’s my very best Gerber story.  Ready?  Here we go.

Once upon a time, I used to live in Germany.  While living there, I had many adventures touring all the countries in Europe I could get to in three years.  I used to take my Gerber everywhere and found it to be an invaluable companion. 

Example?  Okay.  I took a bus tour from Bavaria to Rome, then on to Pisa and Florence, returning to Schweinfurt and the safety of my snug apartment off-post.  From the start, the trip was fraught with snag after snag.  The first bus we were on had no bathroom.  Can you imagine driving for hours through several different countries with no rest stops and no bathroom on the bus?  Fuuuunfunfun. 

We got to Rome and the driver almost ran down a nun in front of St. Peter’s Basilica thus incurring the wrath of the traveling gods.  The tour guide also attempted to abandon me and several others, but we were wiley and persevered back onto the bus.  (I later wreaked my revenge by shorting out the entire hotel floor with my blowdryer.  Never underestimate the awesome power of smooth, swingy hair.)  I’ll skip over the asthma attack I had in Pisa and move on to two of the buses breaking down, leaving us finally with the last remaining bus the company had.

Bus #3, the driver (this would also be our third) was Bosnian, spoke no English and very little German.  Things were going okay for awhile and it looked like we might actually make it home.  Soooooooo very very wrong, we were.  Just outside of Wurzburg (about 30 minutes from home) the bus ran out of gas.  Everyone was wringing hands, biting nails and constantly nagging the ONE guy on the bus who spoke Bosnian.  Translator Guy, consulting the driver, constantly relayed tidbits of tragedy back to us in English and German.  While perched on the edges of our seats, we coasted into an Esso station on fumes and jolted to a halt while everyone collectively sighed with relief. 

The bus driver got out and got back on, not looking at all pleased.  Translator Guy talked to him briefly then informed us that the gas tank was locked and the driver did not have the key.
 

Yup…I’m not making this up.  I swear.

I’d been using my Gerber to cut up an orange in the far back of the bus.  I was tired, I was annoyed, I had to pee and I couldn’t believe we were sitting right in front of gas pumps and everyone was just gawking at them like kids at a candy store window.  I got up, grabbed my trusty Gerber, and strode down the aisle.  I was going home, dammit.  I got to the gas tank door, picked the lock and returned to waves of applause and congratulations in several different languages.

Since then, Gerber tools always make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  J