< Volume II: Issue 2 >
When Worlds Collide
by William Ogden Haynes
Today, he was turned down
for a sales job at Scott’s Furniture & More.
He confessed little knowledge
of particle board or the various
thin veneers glued on the pieces.
He was more comfortable
with the exaggerated opulence of Baroque furniture,
bowfront buffets, chamfered table legs
and beveled glass.
Some of Scott’s pieces came in
cardboard boxes
to be assembled by the buyer at home.
They were easily pushed to the parking lot
on a hand truck.
A credenza or a chiffonnier with
ivory and parquet inlays
would certainly demand more dignity than that.
All the chairs looked the same, overstuffed, with
no ribbon-backs or hand carved spindles.
There were media centers, large as armoires,
but half the weight, put together with staples
instead of mortice and tenon or dovetail joints.
At his antique shop, he was used to seeing
side tables with cabriole legs,
sitting like cheetahs ready to spring.
He scanned the showroom, his gaze
stopping on nothing of interest.
The manager watched the old man walk out
the front door, past the large plate glass windows
onto main street.
They both knew he would be useless
as a salesman at Scott’s Furniture & more.
When Worlds Collide
by William Ogden Haynes
Today, he was turned down
for a sales job at Scott’s Furniture & More.
He confessed little knowledge
of particle board or the various
thin veneers glued on the pieces.
He was more comfortable
with the exaggerated opulence of Baroque furniture,
bowfront buffets, chamfered table legs
and beveled glass.
Some of Scott’s pieces came in
cardboard boxes
to be assembled by the buyer at home.
They were easily pushed to the parking lot
on a hand truck.
A credenza or a chiffonnier with
ivory and parquet inlays
would certainly demand more dignity than that.
All the chairs looked the same, overstuffed, with
no ribbon-backs or hand carved spindles.
There were media centers, large as armoires,
but half the weight, put together with staples
instead of mortice and tenon or dovetail joints.
At his antique shop, he was used to seeing
side tables with cabriole legs,
sitting like cheetahs ready to spring.
He scanned the showroom, his gaze
stopping on nothing of interest.
The manager watched the old man walk out
the front door, past the large plate glass windows
onto main street.
They both knew he would be useless
as a salesman at Scott’s Furniture & more.
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