Chandler and McLoud played at noon at the Chesapeake Arena Saturday, so a little after 10 a.m. I pitched the camera bag into the pickup and headed west.
I found an empty parking spot not far from the arena but noted the signs saying that the owners would tow the pickup at my expense if I didn’t pay for my parking spot up-front.
Only problem was that there was no place to pay.
So, a guy who was from England by way of Texas and I spent about 30 minutes trying to figure it out.
Eventually, he discovered that parking is free on Saturday, so I shouldered the camera bag and headed to the arena, where a checkpoint awaited.
This was very much airport-like, except with friendlier people, and included the old “empty the contests of your pockets into the bowl” routine.
I emptied my pockets and thought nothing of it until the security guy pointed with some alarm at my pocket knife and said: “You can’t bring that in here.”
He said my choices were: a., take the knife back to my pickup or, b., they could hold it and I could pick it up after the game.
I didn’t want to lug the camera bag and gear back to my pickup, but I sure didn’t want to risk not getting the knife back.
It is a black, two-bladed Buck that I have had for 43 years.
Bought it at a hardware store in Ada in 1977 and have carried it most of the time since then.
I have sliced onions, cleaned fish, peeled apples and cut rope with it.
I have sliced open cardboard boxes, carefully removed screws, peeled potatoes and sliced duct tape for dozens of shade-tree repairs with it.
I have driven small nails into sheetrock with it.
Its blades are stainless steel, but it sharpens quickly and holds an edge forever.
The security guy assured me the knife would be safe, but that I would have to describe it to get it back. If it had been a Thunder game, he said, they would have just taken it and kept it.
Sure enough, after the game, I found him and he brought out a box with several other pocket knives, all apparently taken form the Chandler-McLoud crowd.
I was happy to slip it back into my jeans pocket, where it belongs.