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Even objects have a past or Scavengers Part 2


Transformer coach

The hidden tribes of second hand love are sometimes unstable, they change plans and opinions often. It feels like Mad Max but instead of running in a dessert with a punk hairdresser at hand you are just in front of the computer talking with seven owners at a time. One second they secure something, to sell it someone else a second after. They tell you to meet at a certain time, and then they cancel or make you wait.

So before our next stop we had to wait. A coffee in the car, eyeing the place...at least it is not raining....


Then we got the green line to pick up the Transformer Coach. He was happy to see me, and actually felt quite relieved when he greeted us, I could see he wanted to leave as soon as possible, it doesn't look right to be dismembered and half naked...He was a nice coach, quite polite, even greeted the killing bed. Later, when we assembled him together at the apartment, I could feel him being proud and willing to help again, but while we were picking it up he didn't enjoy my chat with the pre-owners.

They were from South America. We talked a little bit, how is it going here, how is it going there, how do you cook empanadas...the usual. It is good to know a little bit more about the hidden tribes in Reykjavik. You never know when you will need them...


The uneventful pick up of the shelf

...


Eastern Europe Tarantinos

We arrive to our fourth destination at the same time as the wind, I should have suspected something wouldn't go right...


The pick up was on of these new neighbourhoods in Reykjavik that grow like cubist mushrooms in the middle of round hills. No trees or plants around bring a feeling of walking in an inhabited rough planet, where people need to survive no matter how.


His name was something else but we will call him Ulrich. Ulrich opens the door, he is shorter than I thought but his frame is solid, I can easily imagine him beating someone up. But I can easily imagine anything, so that really doesn't count.


I see the table at the end of a long corridor that lengthens as I walk, with that effect very common in videoclips. I almost miss stroboscopic lights and people dancing slow motion, also very common in videoclips.


On the endless corridor of a vast empty house, I meet another guy, short, slim, rodent-like, looking nervous and sweaty. For whatever reason I have the feeling they are going to kidnap us. Luckily, a tall and strong friend with a long beard is a good dissuading element in these situations.


We arrive to the living room, and there it is: an endless wooden table, super big, with only one white chair presiding over it. I am overwhelmed by the threatening dimensions of the table, and I can imagine how many knives have stabbed it. Before I even open my mouth, and maybe to alleviate the tension that is falling slowly over us from the ceiling, Ulrich offers me the table for 3000 kr instead of 5000 kr. Something is not right, these type of tribes give nothing for free. They want to get rid of the table. Is it an evidence they want to put on us? Does something that happened on that table bring up something in their conscience?


The air in the living room is dense, they feel at the edge of their nerves, I wonder why do they have only one chair...Are they going to kill me and then torture my friend? Are they going to force him to watch me being tortured tied to that chair?


We are at the expense of their mercy.


But everything shifts when I sit on the chair.


Presiding the impressive table, I place my hands on it and I feel something, something dark lurking between the veining, something living there like a wooden Voldemor waiting for its opportunity to jump into my fingers, I imagine how many dark designs I can create there, how many twisted brand messaging I can write there, how many ways I can use its dark power to manipulate clients to do what I want them to... Sitting there, presiding over that desk, I can see how I can become the Godmother of Design Mob, with minions like Ulrich and the other guy following my orders...because these guys only need a tough hand...


They can hardly contain certain amount of anger inside, I can feel it, while I run my fingers over the surface of the table. They are impatient, they want me to keep it but now they are also scared of me.


I stand up. I am not keeping the table, I don't want to lead the new Design Mob, and I have no interest in manipulating anyone. I tell my friend we can go and we leave the apartment.


Outside, the wind is very strong, even stronger than before. I can hardly keep my feet on the ground, but I manage to do it. And that has been the lesson.


 

The frame of the bed, the coach and the shelf rest in my apartment, waiting for me. I will have a conversation with each of them individually, I want to know everything about them, who they are, who they know, who they have been connected before... Because only the cleanest of objects are allowed in my Universe.

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