There are few things I love this world, but among them are generally disinterested fiddle-wielding lions, cardboard, and products not recommended for the under-3 set. So, you can imagine the myriad of emotions I was feeling when I walked into work this morning and saw this box that someone had given us donated books in:
"Holy crap!" I said, out loud, with the empty basement hallway as my only audience. I removed the books from the box, put them in another box, flattened this box, and nonchalantly took it to the staff room where I removed the giant, lethal-looking staples with a table knife and slid it underneath my bag all in the same breath. I thought that if others were to see this old, beat-up, taped-together Sears portable phonograph box, they would be envious and upset, starting an inner-department brawl that would inevitable lead to some sternly-worded memos (and bloodshed). I was forgetting one integral factor, however: That nobody actually cares about these things.
This box has many things going for it:
A confusing artistic concept. The tents in the background suggest a circus, yet based on the behaviors in the foreground, I am getting more of a rag-tag animal band vibe. Then, there is a very last-minute bird thrown in there, and what is either a unicorn horn or a party hat on our raised-by-wolves friend. (EDIT: It may be a fair.)
A large cautionary message. Typically I am weary of warnings, as they only serve as a hindrance to a really good time. However, there is just something about this one. Maybe it's the thrill at the prospect of dangerous phonographs, or the vague notion of "precautions," but whatever the case, I approve.
Slightly askew print registration. There are few things I love more than two color printing, especially when the said colors are overlapped to make an additional color. One thing I love even more is when the aforementioned two colors are just slightly... off. Slightly.
Someone wrote "Merry Christmas" on the top in felt pen.
Its existence. I always appreciate things that shouldn't have made it to the present day having somehow done just that: Paper things, things intended for one-time use and then to be thrown away, things that just fall to pieces with age. So whenever I find something like this, however it managed to come into my life, it's pretty special. I bet whoever slapped the Sears shipping sticker on this box forty-some years ago didn't think it would live to see the flying cars and standard-issue robot maids of the year 2011.