Sentiments For Sale

Years and years ago I bought a used copy of Flannery O'Connor's The Complete Stories. Whatever few bucks I paid for it I've received back seventy times seven times over; it's one of the great books of the 20th Century. I also received a little bonus for my few dollars: along with the receipt from the original purchase of the book at some university bookstore, the book is inscribed thus:

For Belle;
     Ding!
Boomer

I often think about Belle and even Boomer. In fact, I've written not one but two poems about them, mixing faux come-ons to Belle and sympathy for Boomer (anybody who would sell some Flannery isn't worth your time, buddy). Alas, I wrote the second Belle-Boomer poem because I had somehow lost the first one. And wouldn't you know it, I've lost the second one as well. Hundreds of poems written, and those two are the only MIA ones I can think of. The poems must not have been that good, though the subject matter is great.

I've been thinking more and more about Belle and Boomer lately as I now find myself working in an establishment that deals with all sorts of used items. It seems that Belle and Boomer are hardly unique. Sadly, to me, there are a lot of Boomers out there--people whose loving sentiments inscribed in books to significant others are literally sold out. And plenty of ruthless Belles, people who throw sentiment to the wind and hawk whatever they can for a few bucks. Now, as always, there's a context I'm missing. Maybe Boomer was a jerk and Belle had to rid herself of all things Boomer (as Bob says, "I can't even touch the books you've read"). Maybe it was a genuine mistake--in cleaning out stuff, Belle inadvertently threw out her beloved copy of Flannery, complete with Boomer's cryptic but so-loving "Ding!" Or maybe she liked Flannery, but just couldn't abide owning a copy inscribed by that quasi-stalker Boomer ("I will not go through life betrothed to a guy who calls himself Boomer," she cries to her best friend while packing up books to sell. "Besides, he can't even tell the difference between a semi-colon and a comma."). Who knows the real stories behind all the Belles and Boomers?

But these things break my heart a little: one person's heartfelt sentiments so carelessly tossed aside. Do us all a favor--if you're going to sell some stuff, go through it and remove any sentimental traces. I almost shed a tear the other day when I picked up a copy of an anthology of Cleveland Poetry from fifteen years ago, a book that I was so proud to have one of my poems published in. In beautiful script, this copy was inscribed to two friends from some couple, who also included a page number in their inscription. This is too good, I thought to myself as I hurriedly flipped the pages. This unknown couple writing to another couple has directed them to my poem. But no, my poem was thirty pages away. I could find no relation between the poem on the designated page and the couple; it didn't seem as if one of them had written the poem. It all saddened me terribly. How could people have the heart to sell these kinds of items, items that were picked out for and inscribed directly to them (as Blaze says, "ain't it a cold, cold world?")?

Worse are the items that show up inscribed from the writer/artist themselves! Personally inscribed! Now it kind of breaks my heart when I see a copy of one of the books I taught sold by one of my former students (yes, the actual book the student read in my class; yes, I've checked; no, I've never claimed to be neurosis-free), but I can't imagine the sadness that would ensue if I found a book I'd written and inscribed to somebody dear being hawked for $5.98 at a used bookstore (however much I love and am grateful for used item establishments). On my employee "hold" shelf right now is an out of print used CD from a Cleveland legend, personally inscribed to some callous idiot. I'm thinking of buying it and (after ripping it to disk) sending it back to the legend, just to apprise him of who his friends are, and aren't.

It's not just loving inscriptions that are sold like so much useless dross. I'm amazed at what turns up in books that people sell--invoices, to-do lists, directions (a fellow employee supposedly found a birth certificate in a book a few weeks before I started working there). The prize goes to a piece of torn-out notebook paper I found the other day (that day, to be precise). On the bottom half of the small piece of paper that was otherwise covered in half-crossed out items to buy at the grocery and clothing stores, was a, I assume, rough draft of a "coupon" for a body massage, the details of which are a bit too risque for this staid blog (though I could have offered some grammatical tips to the writer in exchange for a shoulder chop or two). The kicker is, as far as I can tell from the rather cryptically-written list, the would-be coupon had two male names at the top; either some two-timing is going on here, or the would-be masseuse couldn't really decide whose back to, um, scratch.

Anyway, I'm not here to start up some lo-tech used wiki-leaks thing. I'm just, as usual, sharing some of the amazement with the world I encounter, and offering a little warning: be careful of the stuff you get rid of--some stuff warrants selling, other stuff, if not keepsake material, warrants trashing.