I used to hate the classic.
There, I said it, and now the awful truth is out in the open. Once upon a time I though very derisive thoughts about the poor little under estimated classic. I thought it a knife for weird geeks and prissy suit types in office cubicles. My own taste in pocket knives ran to my trusty old war horses like my Wenger Si and well used Buck 301 stockman. If I went as far to carry one of those 'plastic' handle sak's, then it was a 91mm like the tinker.
Then my better half came home with a Chinese sak knock off.
Her company that she was working for, a real estate law office, gave out stuff with their logo on it to customers and real estate agents who brought their settlements to the company. Little AAA pocket flashlights, pens, key fobs. Then they got the chinese classic knock offs and Karen came home with one on her keychain. It was red alright, with the company logo in white. It was a total, absolute, horrendous piece of junk. No cutting edge on the blade, the sissors wouldn't cut anything, just bent it over between the sissors blades, toothpick fell out of the handle with gravity alone if you held the knife up that way. I couldn't stand it.
The next day I went to Walmart and bought a real one. When Karen came home from work, I handed it to her, and pointed out the difference to her. She had no trouble seeing it. Everything worked with real Swiss prefection. She was impressed.
"You've got to show this to Dave."she said. Dave being one of the four lawyer partners who owned the firm, and the one who did the ordering of the give away trinkets. Like the cheap little AAA flashlights, key fobs, and now Chinese sak knock offs. Okay, I'll go see Dave.
The next day I see Dave, and he's as impressed with the little Vic classic as Karen was. He gets on the phone.
"Barb? Dave here, send back all those keychain knives and tell them we want the real Victorinox brand knives...yes I know it will cost more, but I'm not handing out junk like that with our company name on it...Yes the difference is that noticible! " Dave tells someone on the other end.
So Karen's company gave out the real deal, but I still was scornful of the classic. Yeah, good enough for a giveaway key chain item but not for a real man to carry, right?
Boy was I wrong.
Over the next year, I watched Karen abuse her little knife. I know it was the same one, because it had a bit of a burn mark in the handle where she had used the sissors, and then while the little knife was laying on the counter, laid her hot hair iron thing down and melted a little dent in the red plastic. I watched and waited for the thin little blade to break, or the whole knife come apart when Karen would use the SD tip nail file blade as a pry tool. I don't think the Inquisition tourtured it's victims as much as Karen did that little Vic classic. Slowly, ever so slowly, I started to feel a grudging admiration for the little thing. I mean, it was standing up to some real abuse, but not failing. Like some underdog against impossible odds, like the small detachment of British soldiers at Roarks Drift, it held. Nobody can abuse a tool like a woman, who can press it into use in ways the designer never dreamed of in his wildest peperoni pizza induced nightmare.
Karen had brought home another one, and had offered it to me. Of course, I had tactfully refused, but now I quietly slipped it on my keyring, with a fast release clip, and started what I call, "the experiment." For the next year, I made a point, of when I needed a pocket knife type of job done, I would attempt first to do the job with the tiny classic. When nobody was watching of course!
Slowly, over the course of a year, it got through even my thick Irish skull, that this was a decent little tool. I learned the same lesson that when I started to carry a Case Peanut like my dad had carried his whole life, "It ain't the size of the tool, but how sharp is it?"
Slowly, as I cut open UPS boxes, cut jute twine, opened my mail, and did countless other pocket knife stuff, I started to like the classic. Like some little mutt you first let sleep on the front porch, then you let it in the house, before you know it you've gotten attached to it. The rest is history. Like the Case peanut, the little Vic classic became a favorite little carry knife. I remember my dad telling me when I was a little kid; "It don't have to be big, just sharp."
My dad usually knew what he was talking about.
Carl.
There, I said it, and now the awful truth is out in the open. Once upon a time I though very derisive thoughts about the poor little under estimated classic. I thought it a knife for weird geeks and prissy suit types in office cubicles. My own taste in pocket knives ran to my trusty old war horses like my Wenger Si and well used Buck 301 stockman. If I went as far to carry one of those 'plastic' handle sak's, then it was a 91mm like the tinker.
Then my better half came home with a Chinese sak knock off.
Her company that she was working for, a real estate law office, gave out stuff with their logo on it to customers and real estate agents who brought their settlements to the company. Little AAA pocket flashlights, pens, key fobs. Then they got the chinese classic knock offs and Karen came home with one on her keychain. It was red alright, with the company logo in white. It was a total, absolute, horrendous piece of junk. No cutting edge on the blade, the sissors wouldn't cut anything, just bent it over between the sissors blades, toothpick fell out of the handle with gravity alone if you held the knife up that way. I couldn't stand it.
The next day I went to Walmart and bought a real one. When Karen came home from work, I handed it to her, and pointed out the difference to her. She had no trouble seeing it. Everything worked with real Swiss prefection. She was impressed.
"You've got to show this to Dave."she said. Dave being one of the four lawyer partners who owned the firm, and the one who did the ordering of the give away trinkets. Like the cheap little AAA flashlights, key fobs, and now Chinese sak knock offs. Okay, I'll go see Dave.
The next day I see Dave, and he's as impressed with the little Vic classic as Karen was. He gets on the phone.
"Barb? Dave here, send back all those keychain knives and tell them we want the real Victorinox brand knives...yes I know it will cost more, but I'm not handing out junk like that with our company name on it...Yes the difference is that noticible! " Dave tells someone on the other end.
So Karen's company gave out the real deal, but I still was scornful of the classic. Yeah, good enough for a giveaway key chain item but not for a real man to carry, right?
Boy was I wrong.
Over the next year, I watched Karen abuse her little knife. I know it was the same one, because it had a bit of a burn mark in the handle where she had used the sissors, and then while the little knife was laying on the counter, laid her hot hair iron thing down and melted a little dent in the red plastic. I watched and waited for the thin little blade to break, or the whole knife come apart when Karen would use the SD tip nail file blade as a pry tool. I don't think the Inquisition tourtured it's victims as much as Karen did that little Vic classic. Slowly, ever so slowly, I started to feel a grudging admiration for the little thing. I mean, it was standing up to some real abuse, but not failing. Like some underdog against impossible odds, like the small detachment of British soldiers at Roarks Drift, it held. Nobody can abuse a tool like a woman, who can press it into use in ways the designer never dreamed of in his wildest peperoni pizza induced nightmare.
Karen had brought home another one, and had offered it to me. Of course, I had tactfully refused, but now I quietly slipped it on my keyring, with a fast release clip, and started what I call, "the experiment." For the next year, I made a point, of when I needed a pocket knife type of job done, I would attempt first to do the job with the tiny classic. When nobody was watching of course!
Slowly, over the course of a year, it got through even my thick Irish skull, that this was a decent little tool. I learned the same lesson that when I started to carry a Case Peanut like my dad had carried his whole life, "It ain't the size of the tool, but how sharp is it?"
Slowly, as I cut open UPS boxes, cut jute twine, opened my mail, and did countless other pocket knife stuff, I started to like the classic. Like some little mutt you first let sleep on the front porch, then you let it in the house, before you know it you've gotten attached to it. The rest is history. Like the Case peanut, the little Vic classic became a favorite little carry knife. I remember my dad telling me when I was a little kid; "It don't have to be big, just sharp."
My dad usually knew what he was talking about.
Carl.
I cant make a move now without my little midnight manager in my pocket.And yea,there is a Classic on my keyring.A giveaway also from my sons company.
