So the other day I wander into the Salvation Army. Why? Because it’s across the street from where I work. And because I’m looking for some props for a photo shoot. Ok. And because I’m poor. Why do our conversations always consist of you making me feel like crap?
Anyway, WHY I went there isn’t what’s important Inspector Gadget. As I’m strolling around and sifting through the ginormous pile of other people’s crap, I am taken aback by the smell of mildew and grandmas. I started to walk over to the book section, just to see if i could find some good looking books, and what happened next was completely out of my control; thus, I do not take responsibility whatsoever. [much like with everything in my life]
So I’m standing there staring at a huge wall of books and so I start doing what any person such as myself would do: peeling off all the sleeves to see if there are any books that match the colors in my living room and/or office area (they’re only a buck, and how can you ever have enough?). In case I haven’t mentioned it, I collect books. No, not antique ones, or special ones, or limited editions – just ones that match my color scheme. I don’t actually read them, so much as I admire them on my shelves and let them give the impression to all the world that I am mind-blowingly intelligent. Because in all actuality, I hate to read. And queue the following conversation between you and I:
you: but, wait, weren’t you an English major?
me: why, yes. yes i was.
you: isn’t that kind of a weird choice of major for someone who doesn’t like to read?
me: why yes. yes it is.
you: so how did you get through that if you hate to read?
me: well, first I used cliffs notes and then i just quit.
you: oh. so this all goes back to you being a loser then?
me: wait, what? how are you cutting me down again? this is a hypothetical conversation!
Alright, so to recap: I like pretty books to put on my pretty shelves for my big, fat, fake life. okay? I can’t get enough. So as I’m browsing the books, this man comes running down the ramp and says “wow, $0.10 a book today, can’t beat that huh?” To which my response was “you’ve GOT to be kidding me!” No. folks, this was no joke. Immediately, I started stockpiling them. As I am racing to tear off every book sleeve possible before they closed, i am distracted by the following conversation between him and I:
book man: find anything interesting?
me: uh not really. i mean, i really don’t care what they say.
book man: (takes out a little gadget and scans a book) well, i’m actually in the book business. I sell used books. This one is worth $94.00. Anything I can help you find?
me: well, I’m just looking for certain colors. I only need them for my fake life.
book man: (just laughing hysterically and sort of staring in awe)
me: ( after ten minutes of conversation and filling up TWO carts of books) ….well, I think this is all I can fit in my car, but i got some really good ones.
book man: well good. good for you. it was nice meeting you. you are a very unique and interesting woman.
….And when i got home I sorted all 52 books into piles by color on my ottoman and sat down on my couch to stare at the victory I had just won. As I was staring, I realized that now my own living room had acquired the smell of mildew and grandmas. But it was worth it, all $5.41.