Guitars

Arriving in Partington, I got off the bus with a map and a note with the address. I walked down the main street and asked some people for directions. It took me about half an hour to find the workshop. I entered the showroom of Gordon Smith's guitars; it was like I entered heaven, thousands of guitars hanging on the wall, all different shapes and colours. It was beautiful.

I started to wander around the room, looking at everything. A couple of staff gave me a look but didn't say anything or come and greet me. Soon, I came to the demo models area, a small stage with a few electric guitars and a few bass guitars sitting, waiting to be played. I was about to pick one up when I heard a voice.

"Excuse me, young man, but the demo models are not toys." A haughty woman's voice said.

"I know. I was just going to test one while I waited for some service." I smiled at the woman.

"Little boy, this is not a joke", she said sternly. "These guitars are expensive; if you break one, your parents will have to pay a lot of money."

I rolled my eyes and picked up a guitar, put the sling over my shoulder, took the pick Tim had given me out of my pocket, and turned the guitar up.

"Young man, seriously.." she didn't finish her words as I started to play the opening riff from Thunderstruck. Angus Young really came up with something flashy and impressive; it's a cool trick to learn.

"Yes?" I said I stopped playing.

"So you can play," she said.

"Yes, and I'm a customer," I said. "But first, I'm just going to test this out for a bit."

I started to play intros to other songs. Black Dog by Led Zeppelin, don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult, master of puppets by Metallica. I'm just testing the chords and showing off.

"Sir?" I looked up to see a man with the woman now.

"Yeah?" I questioned back.

"How do you like our products?" Said the man.

"They're top-notch. I would love to see how they're made." I said.

"Sir, you know that our guitars start at about 200 pounds, right." He said.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm a rich kid. I'm thinking about a custom," I said. "Can you show me through the process?" I put the guitar back in place and hopped down from the stage.

The man, Henry, was the floor manager; he showed me to a side room, where we flipped through a binder, going through shapes and designs, wood types, fretboards and even nob designs. I learned much about what goes into a guitar but not how it was made. The design I chose would be about 1000 pounds. I paid for the custom guitar, then I asked to see the workshop.

This time, he acquiesced and took me out the back to the workshop. There were about 10 men working on guitars, and the smell of wood and sawdust hit me first; I loved the smell. Henry introduced me to the shop manager, Lou. he then showed me around the workshop, which had many mechanical tools, planes, routers, sanders, and bandsaws. The work was done by hand with care; several guitars were being done simultaneously, each part being handled by different people. They could produce 20 guitars monthly in this workshop, and everyone seemed to enjoy their work. They produced everything in-house, even the pickups; it was a professional and well-oiled machine. My guitar would be ready for pickup in a few weeks. I smiled and thanked the workers for their time, and left. 

When I arrived home, the large spotted white owl awaited me. Taking the letter in its beak, I put out some water and snacks for him. Reading, I learned my grandmother had arrived in England and stayed in the leaky cauldron. I wrote that I would meet her tomorrow. I might as well buy my school supplies while I'm at it.' I thought.

"That owl was waiting all day, you know," Mrs. Malhook said. 

I nodded. "It was urgent, and I demanded a reply." I said; there must have been a concerned look on my face because Mrs Malhook asked, "Is everything okay?"

"My grandmother has arrived in England," I said

"Oh," Mrs Malhook said. She sat down on her armchair. "So what are you going to do?" She asked with a bit of a shaking voice.

"Well" I said as I sat down "I have to meet her, find out what she wants then Idk, I can't leave England." I said "well I could but I don't want to, hogwarts is considered the best in the world, and American policies rub me the wrong way." I explained.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Malhook asked.

"Well, for one, they are totally segregated from the non-magical side," I said. "Britain is segregated too, but it's worse in America." I took a breath. "They remove memories of any muggle with knowledge of magic," I explained. "muggles who give birth to wizards are heavily monitored, and in some cases when the wizard reaches adulthood, they alter the parent's memories of the child so they don't know they can do magic." I shivered at the thought.

"That's horrible," Mrs Malhook said.

"Yup" I sighed "on top of that my mother's family is pretty powerful politically, they are a part neutral faction, making sure the right and left don't get to powerful" I put it in terms she could understand.

"Anyway, I'm going to get cleaned up for dinner." I gave Mrs. Malhook a hug and went upstairs for a shower.