You can hoard...whatever you want to hoard

During this wonderful spring weekend, SharkBoy and I attended various garage sales around the neighbourhood, looking for trinkets, bobs and baubles and various discards. Who doesn’t love walking on a stranger’s lawn and have the opportunity to judge them by the crap they’re displaying? I love wondering how their life was shaped by the arrival/departure of the unwanted things they’re so ineptly displaying on a carpet or card table.

I did notice a befuddling trend: people seem to be collecting a lot of one particular thing, bulk hoarding as it were, for reasons unknown.

At one house, a lady had at least 40 Esso station Olympic glasses. Either she was a travelling sales agent or she liked the Slushies. I had to wonder why even start to purchase/save them, past 2-3? Getting one singular glass I could understand – everyone needs at least ONE container to put pens/pencils/cylindrical desk crap into for your office, but 40? The prospects of using them as “the good glasses” are nil, or huge, depending on the trailer park you live in. And I can’t fathom saying to yourself “I need 30 more of these!” for whatever reason.

One poor sod had approximately 50 ice gel packs lined up nicely in a box. They had a marketing deal (in their head) of 5 florescent blue chillers for $5. What prompted this person to accept all these into their home when at best they could probably use one or two at a time? What circumstance reared it’s cool-required ugly head and demanded that this person take a box of these packs into their life? I suppose maybe they’re transporting temperature sensitive materials, like Swine Flu vaccines or a human head and needed 50 ice packs.

At one house I found a tray of about 20 miniature “Anne Frank” houses. I supposed they were Anne’s house in tiny format – they looked Amsterdammy. One, sure. La la la vacation in dopeland and hey cool, Anne Frank’s hidey home! I need this! But 20? Were they going to set up some sort of diorama?

Honestly I’m one to talk. I have 1000 4″ Iron Giant action figures (dolls!) in a box in the back of the closet. I’m now starting to collect the 3D glasses from the summer blockbusters so I can make a lamp. When I get around to it, of course.

“Venti Earl Grey Tea, one tea bag, room for milk, please!”

Yes. I’m back at Starbucks because I seriously cannot handle Tim Hortons service, their staff or even their patrons. It’s like the words “Please” and “Thank you” have been outlawed and replaced with rabid dog-like snarling. I’d rather drink overly strong tea and have a pleasant exchange than deal with the inept dolts at Tim Hortons. Call me un-Canadian and I’ll remind you that “being Canadian” mean’s we’re suppose to be polite to each other.

“Buddy? Excuse me.”

I turn towards the voice and there is a handsome chap behind me in line. His eyes look a bit hound dog and he shyly asks: “I’m not a tea drinker, what did you just order?”

“Earl Grey?” I say. Internally I’m thinking “Captain Picard’s favorite drink… How the fuck did you miss 7 seasons of Star Trek?”

“I’ve been told I can’t drink coffee anymore. Does it have a lot of caffeine?”

“More than coffee, but you have to take out the bag after 5 minutes or it get’s really nasty.”

“What do you put into it?”

“Just like coffee – milk, sugar, steamed milk, lemon. Some do honey.”

“Okay cool. I really can’t do dairy anymore. Been told to stay off it.”

“Dude,” I offer with a downturn inflection, as condolences.

Meanwhile my internal database flips through the reasons you can’t have dairy and come up with syphilis medication. Also, bad cramping and gas. I need to update that database.