skit #58: we have it all

"Yeh, we have it all. Twleve-hunnerd-an-twelve types, fifdy-thousand-an-fordy-eight tools," Walt knew instinctively, as a duck innumerately knows her clutch count.

He stepped aside, revealing his palace. Storage shelves and holsters cascaded fixture-after-fixture to a remote infinitesimal point where some cornucopian secret must have slept, for something laid on every surface and hung on every hook. Nothing aged among his lustrous inventory of nonbiodegradable greases and stainless steels. Fluorescent lamps glowed overhead, causing all the facets and carats of his pragmatic jewels to glint and wink with the answers to riddles not yet encountered.

For all problems, a tool was stocked, each organized in superfluous triplicates: by size, then by fastener, then by thread-pitch; arrayed in every increment from invisible to audacious; paralleled glissandos carried on in a fugue by the screwdrivers, the Allen wrenches, the pliers. The potential of what could be constructed was immense, perhaps limitless. There were three-men torque wrenches to tighten transcontinental steam engine bolts, pliers weer than crossed eyelashes to temper mainsprings, and tools to tinker with all the other mundane contraptions through which one copes with space or time.

"Here's the catalog of spanners, drill bits, all of whatever. You go an find what you want. When you're ready, come get me right over there."

Walt's face was ancient, its reptilian features lazily webbed together to ensure they would not be severed easily, from his earlobes, to the corners of his ever-smiling lips, to his full-bellied eyelids. He was certainly born before the premises were built. Some think he was born before its tools were invented, and before humans had conferred on a genetic blueprint. When he fabulates he lost a fistfight to his once-ago-lover's boyfriend, a violently jealous bandsaw, suspicious listeners reckon it is more likely Walt was born even before the conception of the opposable thumb.

"I was there once, just like you. Not knowing what tools for what job. So trust I'll turn and answer politely without giving you no sass. Just ask."

He had seen it all, from transcontinental steam engines to pocketwatches. Now Walt lived easily. Should the world fall into disrepair, he had the tool. Should he find himself broken, he had time. He interleaved his eight fingers patiently.