Friday, June 16, 2006
My old stuff is someone else's shite
As I am moving, and as my new apartment does not have a locker, I am constrained to get rid of a lot of old stuff. In some respects, I have been appropriately ruthless. For example, I divested myself of all of the business files I had kept for the past nine years (since my last move; 11 years since I retired from practice). I think I probably filled one dumpster all by myself. All those hundreds of research files compiled over 18 years - compressed! Ah well, time marches on.
I had hoped - I still do, although hope wanes - to sell the law books and reports I still have, 10 boxes full. Hey, I'll throw in a perfectly good five-drawer filing cabinet, a four-hole punch, and an industrial strength stapler.
I'm also very eager to sell my car, now 13 years old and with nearly 200,000 kilometres on it. Any reasonable offer taken! Better yet, drop a huge rock on it or steal it; I'll claim the insurance.
Today, I took my Easton bag of hockey equipment and the suits from the hall closet. That's seven suits, all expensive and well made, plus three sports jackets and two pairs of pants. Off I went to Play It Again Sports and Ex-Toggery, both on Yonge north of Lawrence.
One reason I don't like to recommend restaurants is that almost invariably a place I praise is no longer in business. So it was not surprising, really, to discover that both of the above-named establishments are no more. I should have known.
A woman who runs a second hand women's clothing store in that neighbourhood told me there was a place for men's clothes called Off the Cuff, at Broadway and Yonge. It was not easy to find - it's in the lobby of an apartment building. Another merchant told me how to find it. As it turned out, I had parked right opposite it. I lugged my haberdashery in, and the proprietor took a quick look-through and told me he couldn't use it; it was all too old. He suggested I give it away.
I asked if he knew a place nearby. He didn't, but offered to make the donation for me himself. Hmm. Did I get scammed? Will my Boss suits - double-breasted though some may be, they cost up to $750 apiece at the time I bought them years ago (and 40 pounds less) at Brown's - be adorning his racks in the weeks to come? Worth a visit, methinks.
While I was in the area, I saw a man with (I think) cerebral palsy in a wheelchair at the corner of Broadway and Yonge. I don't know if he wanted help - I'm afraid I didn't ask - or conversation, or whether he was talking to himself. And two other people went by in wheelchairs - I guess there is a residence of some kind nearby - one of whom had no legs. He bought a hot dog from a street vendor. Some charity on my part would not have been amiss today.
I then went further south to Sport Swap, but they deal only in bikes and skis. The man there couldn't help me with advice, and a look in the Yellow Pages did not help either. I decided to drive back up to Thornhill. There was a Play It Again there years ago - indeed, I bought equipment there for my son and maybe for myself as well - although I didn't expect it to be there still. On the way, I passed a plaza where I thought there was a Cash Converter, a suggestion of the man at Sport Swap.
Oh, The African Queen. Here, but blocks from my home, there was a Play It Again. Turns out it's been there 9 years. And you wonder why I'm leaving this area.
I shlepped my hockey bag in and watched while a beleaguered young ex-goalie confronted the true retail value of his esteemed equipment. I could see that this woman was not going to be easy to make a deal with. Ilana was her name. I know that because she had gone to the trouble of writing her name on her water bottle. "Property of Queen Ilana", it said, as well as some mildly unpleasant warning not to touch.
My shin pads, which I thought were quite fine, were of no interest because they didn't have attached straps. My helmet was too old. The pants, shoulder pads, and elbow pads were sellable. They would go, she claimed, for $80; so I was offered $40 worth of merchandise in the store - no thanks! - or a cheque for $24. I didn't bother to attempt to negotiate with Her Highness. Could I at least have cash? Begrudgingly, she agreed. How about $25, a nice round number? How about $24?, she replied.
She then demanded my driver's licence. I knew the reason, but as I was handing it over I asked why. Because the police require it, Ilana said, as though that settled it. But why?, I repeated. She explained that it was in case the goods were stolen, so that they would know where to find me. I told her that I did not steal any hockey equipment. Well then, she replied, you have nothing to worry about.
You sound like a policeman, said I. It had been a bad day so far, or at least an unprofitable one, so I felt I should at least get a shot in. She responded that she hoped to be one soon. Too bad. Why? Because I don't think it's a good way to spend one's life. But not surprising, I added. Why? Because police and sports go together. And here her intellectual curiosity ended. I probably should have explained why I said that, but I didn't think it would have any effect on her. (Besides, I thought that if I really offended her, I might not get my lousy 96% of $25.00.)
But here is the answer: because both police and athletes have simplistic, almost Manichean, views of life. There is Good and Bad, there are Winners and Losers. Sports is a metaphor for life. One might add that both are also notoriously sentimental, with their tragic heroes and tales of redemption - as illustrated again last night at half time of the basketball game by a feature about that 17-year-old high school student with autism who scored 20 points when he was put into a game in the last few minutes, and then got to meet George Bush (speaking of simplistic and Manichean). Why do I like sports? Because it is not a metaphor for life, but the opposite of life.
Well, I kept my jock, my cup, my mouthpiece, and some liquid soap; the rest - even my old hockey sweaters - went into the Salvation Army box behind the plaza. At least I have a nice roomy closet now.
Oh, an amusing footnote. While I was writing this, a young woman from Queen's called, asking for Stephanie White. I assumed she was interested in my law books - no one else has called yet, and it looks like these will get donated to the law school - and had been misinformed as to my name, which is after all similar. No, she was looking for Stephanie White, a former Queen's student. It may after all be time to change my White Pages listing from "S. White" to unlisted or even my real name.
I had hoped - I still do, although hope wanes - to sell the law books and reports I still have, 10 boxes full. Hey, I'll throw in a perfectly good five-drawer filing cabinet, a four-hole punch, and an industrial strength stapler.
I'm also very eager to sell my car, now 13 years old and with nearly 200,000 kilometres on it. Any reasonable offer taken! Better yet, drop a huge rock on it or steal it; I'll claim the insurance.
Today, I took my Easton bag of hockey equipment and the suits from the hall closet. That's seven suits, all expensive and well made, plus three sports jackets and two pairs of pants. Off I went to Play It Again Sports and Ex-Toggery, both on Yonge north of Lawrence.
One reason I don't like to recommend restaurants is that almost invariably a place I praise is no longer in business. So it was not surprising, really, to discover that both of the above-named establishments are no more. I should have known.
A woman who runs a second hand women's clothing store in that neighbourhood told me there was a place for men's clothes called Off the Cuff, at Broadway and Yonge. It was not easy to find - it's in the lobby of an apartment building. Another merchant told me how to find it. As it turned out, I had parked right opposite it. I lugged my haberdashery in, and the proprietor took a quick look-through and told me he couldn't use it; it was all too old. He suggested I give it away.
I asked if he knew a place nearby. He didn't, but offered to make the donation for me himself. Hmm. Did I get scammed? Will my Boss suits - double-breasted though some may be, they cost up to $750 apiece at the time I bought them years ago (and 40 pounds less) at Brown's - be adorning his racks in the weeks to come? Worth a visit, methinks.
While I was in the area, I saw a man with (I think) cerebral palsy in a wheelchair at the corner of Broadway and Yonge. I don't know if he wanted help - I'm afraid I didn't ask - or conversation, or whether he was talking to himself. And two other people went by in wheelchairs - I guess there is a residence of some kind nearby - one of whom had no legs. He bought a hot dog from a street vendor. Some charity on my part would not have been amiss today.
I then went further south to Sport Swap, but they deal only in bikes and skis. The man there couldn't help me with advice, and a look in the Yellow Pages did not help either. I decided to drive back up to Thornhill. There was a Play It Again there years ago - indeed, I bought equipment there for my son and maybe for myself as well - although I didn't expect it to be there still. On the way, I passed a plaza where I thought there was a Cash Converter, a suggestion of the man at Sport Swap.
Oh, The African Queen. Here, but blocks from my home, there was a Play It Again. Turns out it's been there 9 years. And you wonder why I'm leaving this area.
I shlepped my hockey bag in and watched while a beleaguered young ex-goalie confronted the true retail value of his esteemed equipment. I could see that this woman was not going to be easy to make a deal with. Ilana was her name. I know that because she had gone to the trouble of writing her name on her water bottle. "Property of Queen Ilana", it said, as well as some mildly unpleasant warning not to touch.
My shin pads, which I thought were quite fine, were of no interest because they didn't have attached straps. My helmet was too old. The pants, shoulder pads, and elbow pads were sellable. They would go, she claimed, for $80; so I was offered $40 worth of merchandise in the store - no thanks! - or a cheque for $24. I didn't bother to attempt to negotiate with Her Highness. Could I at least have cash? Begrudgingly, she agreed. How about $25, a nice round number? How about $24?, she replied.
She then demanded my driver's licence. I knew the reason, but as I was handing it over I asked why. Because the police require it, Ilana said, as though that settled it. But why?, I repeated. She explained that it was in case the goods were stolen, so that they would know where to find me. I told her that I did not steal any hockey equipment. Well then, she replied, you have nothing to worry about.
You sound like a policeman, said I. It had been a bad day so far, or at least an unprofitable one, so I felt I should at least get a shot in. She responded that she hoped to be one soon. Too bad. Why? Because I don't think it's a good way to spend one's life. But not surprising, I added. Why? Because police and sports go together. And here her intellectual curiosity ended. I probably should have explained why I said that, but I didn't think it would have any effect on her. (Besides, I thought that if I really offended her, I might not get my lousy 96% of $25.00.)
But here is the answer: because both police and athletes have simplistic, almost Manichean, views of life. There is Good and Bad, there are Winners and Losers. Sports is a metaphor for life. One might add that both are also notoriously sentimental, with their tragic heroes and tales of redemption - as illustrated again last night at half time of the basketball game by a feature about that 17-year-old high school student with autism who scored 20 points when he was put into a game in the last few minutes, and then got to meet George Bush (speaking of simplistic and Manichean). Why do I like sports? Because it is not a metaphor for life, but the opposite of life.
Well, I kept my jock, my cup, my mouthpiece, and some liquid soap; the rest - even my old hockey sweaters - went into the Salvation Army box behind the plaza. At least I have a nice roomy closet now.
Oh, an amusing footnote. While I was writing this, a young woman from Queen's called, asking for Stephanie White. I assumed she was interested in my law books - no one else has called yet, and it looks like these will get donated to the law school - and had been misinformed as to my name, which is after all similar. No, she was looking for Stephanie White, a former Queen's student. It may after all be time to change my White Pages listing from "S. White" to unlisted or even my real name.
# posted by Stephen @ 1:13 p.m. 
