HumpDay Quickie #65

Posted: April 29, 2015 in Hump-Day Quickies
Tags: , , , ,

Stephen Steinhart, Ribbon Cutter

by Foy S. Iver

Am I the only one who finds it odd that severing something in two symbolizes new beginnings? Just me? I suppose I have a more reason to reflect on this enigma than most, being a close friend of Stephen Steinhart, Centerville’s go-to-ribbon cutter. Whenever there’s a strip of cloth or human tissue that needs slicing, he’s the one they call. Last week alone we attended 5 inaugural openings, 3 unveilings, and 9 umbilical detachments.

Of course it didn’t start that way. Centerville, like every other town with plenty of personality and no Starbucks, would give the honor of ribbon ceremonies to whomever was most relevant. Bank Managers and Project Coordinators would produce scissors they’d stolen out of craft bins at their kid’s kindergarten. You know the ones, colored with chompers so dull they couldn’t cut through butter. But after Steve’s first public snipping everything changed. He brought something that no one could define, let alone mimic:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, our Town Hall Rec Center, newly renovated!”
Snip.
“Steve just has that technique,” Mayor Gilbert says, holding red fabric remains still trailing around the government building. “I don’t know, it’s like…an art.”

Others point to Steve’s eagerness to contribute:
“Nurse, umbilical clamp.”
Clip.
“Steve, will you do the honors?”
“This won’t hurt a bit, ma’am.”
Schlick.
“WAAAAAAH!”
“I think it’s all in that smile of his,” adds Joanna Terrance, new mother and proud “Steinhartlot.” “He looks so fulfilled doing it. Made me forget I had a squirming watermelon coming out of my shoot.”

Some believe it’s all in his tools:
“The Moxi apartments are once again termite free! Applications online.”
Slick.
“Steinhart? Love that guy!” says a Big Bob’s construction worker who asked to remain unidentified. “I think his secret’s in those scissors he whips out. Have you seen them? They’re longer than my arm.”

And they’re all right. The way Steve separates tape, it’s like magic. No one else has his perfect precision, rabid enthusiasm, or big ass scissors. It’s a destructive hope and he’s good at it. Sometimes I wonder if Steve sees the irony, too. But what do I know? I’m just the instrument.

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