I love antiquing!!!
Before you jump down my throat and start berating me on how old I am, how you can see my crusty wrinkles from space, how you think you found my teeth in a glass…before any of that, just shut up and listen. And if you dare to question my eternal youth-osity, I will happily direct you to "Finding time to play..." Give that a read over and understand that my wrinkles are not from age. They are from excess awesome.
Where was I before you so rudely interrupted? Yes, antiquing.
So I was out and about today carrying around an impressive stack of my less than impressive résumés. On my way from one bookshop to the next, I was keeping my eyes open for anything new and fun. After all, I’ve only been in this city for a little over two months. I can’t possibly have seen everything.
All of the sudden, having just left yet another awesome little bookshop with high hopes and fanciful dreams, I stumbled upon a giant red storefront. This stoop and door was massive. And by red, I mean the paint for this shop front could have been made of innocent young fire truck blood. Littering the already eye catching wall were signs of all colors. “Antiques and Collectibles.” “Come on in!” “MOVING SALE!!!”
They had me at antiques, and my heart almost dove into the cash register at sale, but I was unprepared. Unlike many antique shops that simply pretend that their factory made antique looking locks are the real deal, this place was legitimate. Not only was it legitimate, it was a very specific type of legitimate. Namely, it was all really old Chinese/Japanese (forgive my ignorance) furniture, calligraphy utensils, and life sized carvings of warriors. Not exactly my thing, but I was still intrigued, and the AC was nice.
Upon walking through the front door, I noticed some signage attached to the warriors. “DON’T TOUCH!” Very well…I’ll simply molest the ancient Asian badass with my mind. No matter to me in the end of things. But then I noticed an even larger sign hanging from the entrance way ceiling. “No children under the age of 14 permitted without an adult.”
Now I suppose I can somewhat understand this. The aisles between the neatly stacked items were very small. And simply by virtue of being an antique shop, we should assume that everything inside its walls is old and fragile. So itty bitty, noisy, rambunctious children…well they shouldn’t be out in public at all let alone inside of an antique shop.
I’m still lost, however, at where they get that age cut off point of 14? Am I so different now, at the super duper grown up age of 23, than I was when I was 14 years old? In the last 9 years, have I gained some adult super power? Is it because I finally started eating the green shit my parents always wanted me to (but I refused so vehemently on the sole basis that “it’s too wrinkly”)?
It is just as easy now to click the ‘Yes, I am 18’ button on all of those dirty video sites as it was back then. I find myself even more engulfed in my phone than I ever was as a teenager, so my perception of my immediate surroundings has probably decreased. I was clumsy then, and that still holds true. The desire to touch things I’m told I shouldn’t has not diminished AT ALL!
So what is it? Perhaps they know that, as an adult, I understand that I will be liable for anything I break. In this legitimate store, that meant hundreds or thousands of dollars out of one whoops. I suppose that could be it. It’s the only real reasoning I can think of, because I sure as hell don’t feel like an adult.
This entire thought process ran through my head as I navigated the incredibly tight aisle spaces. Anything I picked up was handled delicately and put back exactly where I found it. Items with especially large price tags were admired from afar.
On my way out, I stopped to take one more look at my friend, the “DON’T TOUCH” warrior man. He really was a piece of work…intricate, menacing, powerful, wonderful, and only one foot away.
I totally poked him in the eye.
And with that, I was on my merry way to the next bookshop on the list. Being an adult is pretty sweet.