Sunday, June 24, 2007

The Blue and the Gray


With a brightly colored sweatshirt in each hand, the clothing rep looked at me with dismay. Just blue and gray? he asked again and I nodded.

He had laid out a rainbow assortment of college wear - pastels and stripes, checks and plaids. There were puffed sleeves and short sleeves, baseball shirts, pullovers, hooded, crew and v necks, all in lime green, heather blue, lemon yellow and fuscia , cheery pink. There were sweatpants and socks, headbands, shorts, polo shirts and jackets. All proudly displaying the initials of the college, all in dazzling colors. I felt overwhelmed and slightly blinded by the choices. Blue and gray, I repeated firmly.

I was a dreadful clothing buyer and after a semester or two I jumped at the chance to return to school supplies. There was comfort and confidence in #2 pencils and notebooks, legal pads, paper clips, binders. The secure safeness of highlighters and folders called to me - they could be easily arranged and displayed, easily counted and inventoried, they didn't shout or challenge my fashion sense, they were simply the necessities of college life and they made for simple decisions. Each morning and evening I could walk the shelves with assurance and ease, checking that everything was in it's proper place, neatly organized and accessible. Things stacked naturally and complemented each other - unlike the chaos in the ransacked clothing area, school supplies maintained their places, patiently waiting for the inevitable buyers, knowing they would be of use. School supplies have self respect and no need to prey on the emotions of vulnerable students. They don't come into fashion then go out of style - some part of the world is always going to need pencils and paper. Unlike college textbooks, they don't go out of print and become obsolete. School supplies are trustworthy.

The artistic part of me rebels at this confined and inflexible mindset, wanting to scatter pencils all over the floor just to see what geometric pattern might emerge, but the bookkeeping part celebrates in the order, the routine, and the sameness, in the very set in stone small outlook. The artistic part wants to photograph butterflies in motion, the bookkeeping part wants to count them and assign each a cubbyhole. Maybe we are, by design, all composed of differing attitudes and emotions, intentionally kept in opposition just to keep things interesting. Or maybe the world really is as random and unpredictable as it sometimes seems.

This much I know - the world needs all sorts of people to keep working and spinning.











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