Nathan Emory wrote this article with his best buddy Milo, the guy who used to return his empty bottles for the 5 cent deposit in upstate New York.
To me, there are only four kinds of people.
1) People who have a clue, and know what to do with it;
2) People who have a clue, but don’t know what to do with it;
3) People who don’t have a clue, but eventually will, at which point
they will become one of the aforementioned types;
4) People who don’t have a clue, and never will.
I’ve seen a lot of Type 4s and Type 3s about lately. Most of the
population is
either a 4 or a 3. I think I am in transition out of being a
Type 3 and into being a
Type 2.
I went to the Goodwill store today and bought some corduroys.
There were two
women in front of me in line, one pregnant, one post-pregnant.
Around them
stood several bored, screaming little children. Have children, if you
must; but
leave them at home until they are seven. If you are forced to
take them out into
public, drug them or beat them into complete submission. If you
don’t do this,
you’re just not a responsible parent. You are committing a felony
against the
public’s sanity. In a world where you can make your own web page
at Richard
Simmons’ web site, the public is fanatical about their sanity.
They will protect it,
and should they have to make an example of your child, I would imagine
that they would not hesitate to do so.
I see a lot of tragedy at the Goodwill store, which is why I go there:
to remind
myself that this world is seven trillion square miles of freak show,
and my little
ego deformities are minor. Everybody in the store was clueless
and numb.
They wore clothes from other Goodwill stores. Even the spoiled
bratty fuck rich
kids from the west suburbs blabbing thoughtlessly on their cell phones
had clothes on from other Goodwill stores (Look at these pants!?!?
They are the bomb!?!?) Meanwhile people on food stamps cowered away
from them in the corner trying to determine which shirt would withstand
the most washings in the laundromat washing machines.
Here a good shirt might cost you 75 cents, or a dollar. A nice
suit is five dollars.
Of course, this is what clothes used to cost . . . in 1955. Now
that ridiculously
low prices like that are banned by the law of profit, looking at a
pinstripe oxford
that only costs $1.25 is enough to bring on a certain nostalgic longing
for a more
innocent time. But I only came for corduroys; I’m a practical
man. I have my
dollar. Give me my corduroys.
It’s not that easy. Standing in line flanked by a family on public
welfare in front of me and two teens on parental welfare behind me, I realized
why people flock to the crowded mall to pay $65 for a new pair of jeans.
It because confronting the stark realities of life- and if you think I’m
be melodramatic, go to the bathroom in the Goodwill- is an inordinate cost
in itself. It’s impossible to mix with the Type 3s and 4s when you’re
a Type 1. It’s barely tolerable when you’re a Type 2 . . . and if
you’re on the edge, it might be enough to suck you under!
Nathan Emory edits this sorry excuse for entertainment.
