Who Is That? How’s It Spelled?

For a few years, I worked a relatively dead-end job at a custom framing store. Besides getting many things of my own nicely framed, I got a story or two to tell.


The store I worked at had a contract with the San Francisco 49ers, in which all of their framing needs (which were a lot more than you might think) would be done by us. During the football season, autographed photos and memorabilia, along with action shots from the team’s photographer, came through the store on a seemingly endless conveyor belt of red and gold. The store’s owner was more of a guy’s guy than me (as are most men, most photographs of men and most symbols on men’s room doors) and would fawn over each picture with an enthusiasm I couldn’t understand.

"When I finish knitting this personalized elbow pads for pop's jersey, he'll know I'm no weirdo about sports."
“When I finish knitting these personalized elbow pads for pop’s jersey, he’ll know I’m no weirdo about sports.”

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