Etsy is a
black hole. Once you go in, you don’t come out again until your wallet is
nothing but an empty shell. You will look at the smoking husk of that finely
made leather pouch you once had money in and weep. You’ll scrounge all the
folds and pockets for some remnants of life. But there will be none. Your old,
and forgotten, Home Depot credit card will turn to dust in your hands. There
will be nothing.
You will be tempted,
though. You will think to yourself, “I don’t actually need anything. I just
want to look.” And you’ll leave with a confirmation of purchase for a new
baggage set made of organic hemp-fed duck leather, luggage tags crafted from
the bark of the Baobab tree of Madagascar and dyed with human blood, a passport
cover woven from the seller’s hair and diamonds mined by slave-workers in
Egypt, a painting of an owl, and a Harry Potter bookmark set. And afterwards,
because it takes so long to actually receive the items, you’ll completely
forget what you did and why your bank account is so empty.
Which then, propagates
your next foray into the abyss.
I ventured into Etsy.
My friend was looking for mermaid blankets and I was, well, bored. I did the
thing that everyone does, I said I was “just looking.” Just looking through
pages upon pages of beautiful art to hang in my barracks room. Everything was
so expensive, and none of it really grabbed my attention. I was safe.
Or, I thought I was,
until I tumbled into a secret part of Etsy. If Etsy was a physical store (thank
the Cosmos it is not) this part of it would be hidden beyond the aisles of
llama carpets and hidden behind a tapestry of a fox stargazing (of which I
happened to buy from Etsy). It would be a dark little sub-shop, lit by Tiffany
lamps and smelling of damp wood and dander.
But I ventured in
anyway. It was morbid curiosity that got me. I stepped onto the creaky, dusty
floorboards. Hundreds of eyes stared at me, waiting for me to buy. I can only
imagine the number of visitors they get, you know.
Dead animals surrounded
me on all sides. Bear heads and long, curling antlers glared at me from the
walls. Meanwhile the floor and counters had the most peculiar, and amazing,
animals I had ever seen.
Now, I do want to make
mention that I am the kind of person who can’t eat food if it reminds me too
much of an animal. I eat meat, yes, but only if I can pretend it wasn’t once
alive. The galley gets me every time with their chicken. I’ll think it’s safe
until it gets put on my tray, then I see the ribs poking through what was once
muscle, wrapped in tiny tendons and veins.
Gag!
But somehow, I was
drawn to this shady section of Etsy. And I wasn’t afraid. One thing led to
another (as is always the case in Etsy, hence it being a black hole) and soon I
was looking past posable dogs (yes! He can move! You can sit him up, or lay
him down. He is perfect to cuddle with at night without all that pesky slobber!),
ducklings dressed as dapper gentlemen, and rabbits mid leap. It was all so
fascinating, but now I was on the hunt for something specific.
Corvids.
Lovely black birds. My
favorite animals. I’ve always had a love for ravens and I have a Magpie
tattooed on my back. Now, I had the need for one of these creatures. For a
mounted bird with beautiful black feathers. Raven was my first choice, but well
out of my budget. $500 plus shipping? No thanks. Finally, I found a Rook. He
was lovely and I wanted him. And he was reasonably priced. Done.
It happened like that.
Without much debate or thought. That’s the spell woven through Etsy, though.
You just buy things.
And then for two and a
half months I waited for my new friend. Waited, and hoped, and waited.
And then I went to
Paris on leave with my boyfriend. I flew away from the barracks, away from the
ship. We had gotten settled in and the next day I get a text message from my
roommate:
 |
| Good thing it wasn't fragile |
I was so excited!
Finally! My Rook arrived! In a beat up box. In a box that was so crumpled, so worn
I had to worry about the condition of my new friend.
I wanted to be the one
to break the seal. I wanted to open up the box and be the first one he saw when
he entered the world. But I was too concerned for his well-being. I had her
open it up and send me pictures.
Is his head supposed
to look like that?
I was too many
hundreds of miles away to concern myself with it. I had Disney to go to, and
things to do. And a boyfriend who I hadn’t seen in months. The rook would have
to wait.
 |
| What the eff do you think you're doing? |
Once home, he was the
first thing I went to. My roommate had repackaged him so I was still able to
act surprised when I opened him up. I pulled him out of the crumbled, musty
cage. And there was Reggie. Reggie the Rook. He was a beautiful, judgmental
bird.
Which is perfect,
because that’s exactly the kind of life I lead. Beautiful and full of
judgement.
I look forward to the
day when they come to do room inspections and freak out over a real bird
sitting on the desk staring at them, judging them, like Who do you think you
are, peasant?
The room contract said
no live animals. So, really, I’m ahead of the game.
Now to see about that
posable dog…
