A Free Bag of Spanish Moss



Before I begin this post, I’d like to acknowledge that it probably seems as though I spend too damn much time in the laundry room of my building. You’d think I was running my own laundry service out of there, with all the ridiculous shit  I’ve written about it. I’ve speculated about the relationships of strangers and gone to a UFO convention in Las Vegas on the strength of the cork board offerings alone. Maybe it’s because there’s something so old fashioned and tactile about these postings, but they fascinate the hell out of me. So let’s get to it:

Okay, selling one’s TV and coffee table–that’s nothing unusual. But I want to discuss the Free Bag of Spanish Moss, nestled there in the third row between the free laptop bag and 1 dollar pillows.

1. I am so tempted to go knock 0n this bastard’s door and say, “Hi. I’m here for the Free Bag of Spanish Moss.” This is one NYC experience I’ve never had and I’m pretty sure I will never get the opportunity again.

2. Why did he ever think he’d need a bag of Spanish Moss? What kind of bizarre “Gone With The Wind” reenactment was he staging in his tiny apartment?

3. I appreciate that he doesn’t want his Spanish Moss to go to waste. Waste not, want not. But I’m still amazed that it was so important for him to find a new home for his Spanish Moss that he used up precious laundry room advertising space. I picture him pausing before he threw it out, thinking, “No. No way. I just can’t do this. Surely someone, somewhere in this building needs this Bag of Spanish Moss.”

4. Do you think he took more than one photograph of the Free Bag of Spanish Moss, making sure he captured it just so?

5. What does it say about my pathetic life that I’ve just written three hundred and twenty words about a Free Bag of Spanish Moss?


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