The string merchant
After dropping the rest of the family off at a cinema located a long way from home, so they could watch the latest Pirates of the Caribbean episode, I spent some time turning in circles in the wilds of Vanier. Amazing how that village, with a winding river running through it, adopted streets that also curve back upon themselves. I was in search of the OZ, where we go to repair musical instruments.
I needed a single string for a bass guitar. Summer help meant that the salesperson had no idea how such things were stored or labelled, but a more senior (by about three weeks, if appearances matter) was able to find the necessary package. We both realized that there is an economy of scale (not to be confused with musical scale) when one string cost more than half the price of four. The bass will now have a set of strings less one in reserve, for the next time we break one, unless it is the same string that breaks, if you catch my drift. Meantime, nobody knows how the (virtually) unplayed bass lost a cord (no chords in bass land) in the first place. It just broke, I guess, which is what sent me off in search of the lost chord in the first place (mandatory reference to the Moody Blues).
