America Peals

With enormous energy reserves and better eating, I find myself involved in many hobbies that I had eschewed for so long due to extreme lethargy. At my heaviest, not only was I exhausted and daunted by simple walks to the NYC subway, I hated to go out. I couldn’t wear the clothes I wanted to. I could not comport myself in the way that I believed was at my core. It was literally like a layer of fat, encased not only my body and mind, but encased my spirit.

Being able to do box jumps, write regularly and be part of a dynamic community has done miracles on my esteem and bringing me back to my core.

One particular hobby or interest that I have happily found again, is interior design. Now, I am not Jean Smart from Designing Women. However, I love exploring out of the way places, including the Wellesley dump for objects de art. I am particularly moved by reclaimed  wood and industrial widgets. I actually have a collection of South American wooden widgets from over a century ago that were used to set sand molds of machine cogs.

(Tangentially…Oh, God! Sweet Mortification… as an adolescent day camper at the Ten Acre Camp, each camp session would end with an  awards ceremony. Now, every little shit got an award. And,  being 12, I wanted the sexiest award: Best Performer/Actor at Ten Acre. Instead, as I wore my Guess tapered jeans and Tretorns, I was brought to the stage to receive “The Woody Wood Pecker Award”  for the camper with best wood. I mean best wood work. Yep. That award catapulted me beyond the Dungeon and Dragons clique into an elite clique of weirdness more unacceptable than fantasy and medieval gaming culture.)

Much like CrossFit, artistically, I am moved by utility, ergonomics and range of motion. I will share photos later.

Well, yesterday, I went to the Treasure Hunt at the Boston Design Center, a mecca for designers and architects. The BDC is traditionally closed to plebeians and only once a year is the public granted access to their high design palate. I was eager to attend because my sister has been uber successful in locating expensive pieces and bringing them home for a song.

My friend Stacey and I went to South Boston with dreams of $300 rustic coffee tables. What we encountered was a bit different. First, I must say that the BDC comprises gorgeous studios of equally gorgeous furniture, textiles and all other sundries. However, the prices of discounted pieces was ALARMING. Though, I thought no problem. I could see the integrity of the work. the high quality of craftsmen ship and ethical treatment and purchasing practices of natural materials.

So far, so good.

Until I entered one showroom. This particular showroom had a raffle. You were able to pop a balloon and potentially win cash to spend and/or a significant percentage off a purchase. So, I brought my little slip of paper to a showroom consultant to redeem my raffle attempt. The response I received was chilly at best. The clerk did not look me in the face, in fact kept moving blankets arbitrarily around as to feign she was too busy for my raffle inquiry. I was told,”THAT RAFFLE IS ONLY FOR A PURCHASING CUSTOMER.” And, she moved away. Immediately, my feathers were ruffled. I am normally soft spoken but this clerk in her last season JJill ensemble did not impress me with her manners.

I continued to look around despite the bitchy holier than thou ‘tude…until the bitch (in less than five minutes) was rude again to my friend. My friend inquired about a vase that had Dragon Flies perches chimerically around it. The clerk responded, “Well, that’s not part of the sales items.”  My friend kindly followed up with still wanting to know the price and designer of that piece. To which the clerk proudly stated: “It doesn’t matter how much it costs because you are not a designer and therefore the item is not available to you.”

Enter stage left: Amanda.

My friend just walked away shaking her head. I became a heat seeking missile. If there  is something I do not tolerate is ignorance measured with alleged superiority. I schooled the clerk; quietly but  I made my impression. I informed her that I was a designer (lie). I asked her how do you know if my friend was or wasn’t a designer? To which she responded (in a vexed tone), “Well, did you want me to give her the price?” I was astounded by the ignorance and the carrying on of her rudeness. I didn’t respond to her inquiry but stated that I would have serious reservations of sending people to this particular venue due to the incredible inhospitability.

I also informed her that the woman she dissed owns a horse farm in Connecticut and is close friends with Martha Stewart. Oh, and that she just purchased a loft in the South End and was in need of design work. I walked away.

Quick note: That venue was the ONLY venue with flagrant rudeness. Much fun was to be had everywhere else.