Big Bob's Lemon Tree

There’s a man up our street, we call him Big Bob, ‘cause he’s big and we don’t know his last name. But really everybody calls him Big Bob: that’s how we were introduced. Now, Bob’s garage is crammed full of tools, and that’s a good thing. You can count on Bob to have the part you’re missing. The other week, there was trouble; trouble with a combination lock. Either it was stuck or its permutation of letters had spontaneously reset. Helpless to open it, the sports bin it shielded was off limits. The sports bin being the repository of all form of balls, rackets, gloves, flotsam and jetsam. Robin dispatched the boy to Bob’s house and the lad summarily returned. With a can of WD-40. Perhaps the lock was rusted shut? The child was sent back with the can unused. Even a lawyer’s home will store some of that resourceful lubricant and try it in a pinch first, before searching for salvation. Okay, it wasn’t tried first. But as it were, when our own WD-40 was produced and sprayed, it failed its task.

Our eldest then returned with the big man, who carried a saw. It took some serious application, but Bob defeated the lock. Now, we abide by the rule of reciprocity. Fortunately, Big Bob’s garden needs tending. The boy is well-suited to weed-picking and Robin happily and readily lent his services. Though, the youth questioned why all the trouble if he could not then access his ball and bat?

And when the boy returned at dusk, dirt packed beneath his nails, he carried a hefty bag of lemons from Big Bob’s tree. Not a sweet dividend, yet still good recompense.

The above dramas unfold during the day whilst yours truly pores through bankruptcy petitions, bankruptcy cases and bankruptcy codes, counseling clients, delegating what he doesn’t want to do himself. I'm regaled with the tale later, though, and I think it’s good there are guys like Big Bob.