Recent Fetishization
The recent re-upswing in my interest about the whole ritual child abuse hysteria in the 80s has required the purchase of numerous books. Some of them have fabulous titles, such as Behind Playground Walls and Michelle Remembers (which is also one of the most ridiculous books I’ve ever read). I also keep picking up copies of books at yard sales, including copies of thingsI already own. This even includes the unnecessary purchase of a coverless copy of The Poisonwood Bible. It is a fabulous book, but does not require the reader to own two different editions, one missing its cover.
My apparent desire to acquire more and more books at a time when I plan on leaving the country in January is not merely foolish. It has also required the purchase of a new bookshelf.
(Incidentally, it appears that everyone else in the world besides me calls a structure on which to place books a “bookcase.” It made craigslist searches weird and made me feel silly. I sometimes call a vacuum a “vacuum sweeper” or “vacuum cleaner.” I’m not really sure which is correct. Also, I feel comfortable calling cordless phones by the title “remote control phones.” I feel my parents taught me a completely parallel form of English. )
Here’s the bookshelf:
I am in LOVE with this… bookcase. And when I saw it up on craigslist for a mere $30, I had to have it.
Which brings me to Luda.
Luda is my new friend who owned said bookcase. I emailed her with my interest, and then emailed again in desperation with my phone number, requesting that she call if it was still available because, “I sent an email earlier today and haven’t heard back.” I’m a bit sad.
The next morning, Luda calls me at 8:50 and we attempt to work out a time to pick up my newly aquired piece of lovely despite my only half-awakedness. She informs me that the dismantling of the bookshelf will take “several hours” and that I “should bring a man with [me] because it is quite heavy,” and she doesn’t know how “handy” I am. (I don’t mention that I started building sets and using circular saws at age 14 - a fact that would fail to impress Andrew not ten minutes later).
To make a long story short (too late), I call Luda at 6:30 that night to come over and take apart the shelf. She doesn’t think I’ll have enough time because they routinely go to bed at 9 pm, and again asserts that it will take “hours” to dismantle. We agree on the next morning as a “better time” to engage in the gargantuan tasks of removing an Ikea bookcase from her home.
The next morning, Jeremy and I arrive at Luda’s home no earlier than 9 am. There is some fiddling with the gate on their huge privacy fence (who expects a gate to slide?) and we are shown by Luda’s clog-wearing husband to the room. We are required to help in the putting down of cardboard and then left to our devices.
At 9:18 everything was in the car. Both Luda and the husband had mysteriously disappeared, so I chucked the money on the cardboard and we headed out.
While the bookcase may have only cost $30, I feel I took on a little bit of the pain Luda’s husband must feel on a daily basis. But as I stare at a copy of Harmful to Minors well-shelved in my livingroom, I know the emotional price I paid was worth it.
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