Every mind is a room packed with archaic furniture .
I was reading a post from No Facilities about , in part , a table . The author of the blog , among several other admirable pursuits and accomplishments in life , is a woodworker . I’m not a woodworker , but I belong to that esteemed and extensive club of people who wish they were .
If I were to go around again in life , I’d learn a musical instrument , master woodworking , and learn to fluently speak at least one other language . I’d also shamelessly take specific characteristics from friends of mine and make them my own. Oh , and I’d learn to sail .
Ada and I are having a cabinetmaker build us something for the front hallway . He and his wife were over measuring a few days ago . Suddenly the world seems full of furniture , or is it just my cluttered mind ? So I thought of Redman Van and Storage . That’s how a cluttttttttered mind works , in my case anyway , if you don’t have one .
I worked for Redman Van and Storage in my high school time , during the summers and on Saturdays the rest of the year . They paid me $ 1.80/hr. I can talk about it freely because it isn’t there any more . Besides , the solemn oath to not speak about any of it at all for 50 years is about up too , so I think it’s okay to blabber.
There was a Redman working in the front office when I was there . He was the big boss. He had inherited the place from his father . His father and uncle were smart hard-working businessmen , I understand , who built up the warehouse facility in Santa Monica and another one in a nearby city , tied their little company to the huge Mayflower company house movers , and thrived.
Then the son took over . He spent his days on the phone “touching base” with other wannabe success stories , and continuously checked in with social and business clubs , setting up lunch dates presumably , and social butterflying around town . Meanwhile , his brother-in law ran the business from the other Redman warehouse .
You might ask me how I know this . After all , I was just a punk kid hauling tables and chairs , lamps and mirrors around the yard and moving them up and down on the freight elevator for a dollar eighty an hour . How would I know anything about the overall business ? Well , I’ll have you know that I had at the time several inside informants , and I listened to scuttlebutt . There are no guarantees , nevertheless , that this is all precisely accurate information . ( Cluttered mind —remember ? ). I will say in my own defense that none of these facts are given under oath , don’t endanger anybody , and et cetera . And , no , I’m not connected with and so I don’t share information with The Deep State , the all -powerful Shadow Government that constantly watches , plants spies in locales like Redman Van and Storage in Santa Monica , and waits . Fifty years is nothing for them , by the way . They’re patient.
I did have my hair a little long in those days , however , and I began to grow a scraggly mustache. The mustache was the straw that broke the camel’s back I guess . Little handwritten notes began to be posted around the warehouse that warned of an imminent infiltration by Communists . I didn’t even know that the notes referred to me and my mustache until Roy , the warehouseman and my immediate supervisor , told me .
Roy may or may not have known who the note-poster was . If he did he never told me ; but he told me to forget it , don’t worry about it . Those were the Love It or Leave It days of old , the time when cops boarded Greyhound buses to demand that all young men on the bus show their draft cards , the time when hard hats beat up hippies and Elvis was asking Nixon for a special assignment in undercover work .
And so the world goes ’round. We’re still waiting in this country to be suddenly hit with a nuclear weapon from space . Nowadays , however , some of us think that would be a relief , I suspect . We’re demonizing category after category of those whom we fear or just don’t like , but little handwritten notes don’t have to be posted on warehouse walls any more . We have technology nowadays to take care of spreading our individual and/or our mass incivility around .
Roy always had my back , so to speak , at that old job . I think he could just simply see me for who I was . Thanks , Roy .
I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic , and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose . —– Arthur Conan Doyle