The Job I Wanted to Turn Away

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked our customer.

I was the gunslinger, the lead custom shop guy, for the leather goods shop I worked for in Doraville, (Cue Atlanta Rhythm Section), Georgia. The customer was a really nice guy, and he said so little about his music that I figured he was a good enough guitarist to let his playing speak for itself.

Seems he had a new gig, a good one, in a country band, and he had it in mind to "countrify" his guitar. What he wanted was a custom leather piece added to the face, with inlays and multiple rows of closely spaced stitching like you'd see on a pair of good western boots.

Now, I had done my share of that type of design when my old partner and I had worked with Ralph Lauren's folks on his Polo Western line, so I told the customer that it would be no problem, just bring his guitar in and we'd see what we needed to do.

He did. I'm still no expert on guitars and their relative quality and value, but what this guy brought in was a Gibson Les Paul that appeared to my untrained eye to be more than an entry-level model, and it was in flawless condition. The problem? The only way I could see to add the leather panel was to cement it to the face, and that meant (I can feel you guitar aficionados cringing even as I write this) scuffing the gorgeous lacquer finish so that the glue would have a good surface to bond onto.

My job was to encourage customers to have custom work done, the fancier the better, but oh, that guitar; I tried, quietly but earnestly, to talk the guy out of having me do the job, really more for my sake and the guitar's than his, but yes, he was sure he wanted it done.

So I painted a mustache, albeit a carefully-crafted one, on the Mona Lisa. The customer was delighted when he saw the completed work, and my boss was delighted when the customer paid with cash, but I still feel guilty.

I never saw the customer or the guitar again. I hope they're still making beautiful music together.