Open Writing

Getting to the End of the World wasn’t easy. We had to get quite badly lost and disoriented before ending up there, but once we were there we knew it straight away. It has a look about it that no other place has.

We had taken instructions from the telephone from a man who told us he had lots of second hand microwaves at decent prices, and that it was worth our while to travel the fourteen or fifteen miles to his place. We set off with a map, hastily scribbled directions, and uncalled for confidence.

The route we took after leaving the motorway fitted the directions and the destination we had decided was the place for us to start asking questions. Apart from some initial confusion after leaving the motorway, we got back on course, we thought, and watched for the OK Furniture Company. We did not find it.

We stopped at transport depot and spoke to a guard who had never heard of the business and didn’t know any place that seemed remotely like it, but we used his directory and found the address, to which he gave us directions. Our confidence renewed, we set off still singing. This time the description of our route didn’t seem to match the physical surroundings, but we kept to the plan. Our initiative had already sent us up an unnecessary, if beautiful, mountain.

Then, straight ahead in the distance, Gay noticed the two-foot high letters spelling out OK Furniture. It was emblazoned on a building that looked bombed-out at the ”T” junction dead ahead of us. As I turned into the street to park the car, I took quick readings of the neighbourhood and instantly knew that we had left civilization behind. Turning to Gay as we got out of the car to cross the road, I remarked, “This looks like the end of the world!” Her reply was “I’m glad you noticed as well!” It looked like a post-holocaust world when everything was dead or dying.

The OK Furniture Company was chief among the moribund and occupied five buildings each one of which was in a more advanced state of decline than its neighbour. However, since we had circumnavigated the region looking for the place, and hoping that they might have what we were looking for, we went in the biggest shop of the five neighbouring ruins and the only one with a sign. The furniture and other appointments piled onto the pavement outside the series of buildings announced that they were under the same management and subscribed to a uniform marketing policy of pile it high and sell it high.

We found ourselves in the company of a young lad, intently watching TV. He did not flinch when we passed his chair or spoke to him. We were greeted by an elderly man who, like most of the stock, had seen better and more prosperous days. The main shop was about thirty-six feet across and about the fifty feet front to back. The right side third was dedicated to old stuff and the left two-thirds was full of decent quality furniture and household appliances, many of them new or in new condition. The pile it high principle was fairly well applied throughout the shop and most of the stuff we had an interest in was under one or more other objects.

We needed a vacuum cleaner, a microwave oven and, if possible, a TV set. Gay started looking at vacuum cleaners from among a herd of about seven models near the walkway. From their dusty appearance, they had been rounded up and corralled there for some time. I searched for a microwave because I would rather eat than clean. I heard some of the interchanges between Gay and the old gentleman centred on the machines.

“This one goes.” “The brush isn’t going round.” “It needs a belt.” “Why hasn’t it got one?” “I don’t know. It’s my son’s place. He’s gone to the game.” “ How about this one?” “ I’ll try it.” “ That seems to go OK.” “ The brush isn’t going round.” “ It needs a belt.” “ It’s got to be worth $5.00!” “ Not if it doesn’t go round! Why would I spend $5.00 for something that doesn’t work?” “ You’ve got a point.””

Thus they went, back and forth for a while. In the meantime, I had no better luck with the ovens. Each of them was either at least ten years old, full of putrefying food, or just plain dead. The TV that the young lad was watching was old-fashioned but had a decent picture, and a big sticky label saying $175.00. I figured that this silly price was to ensure that no one bought it so the boy and the old man could watch the game. We started to leave, thanking the man for his time and patted the TV addict on the head. The touchdown was more interesting.

“We’ve got other stuff in the next shops,” our host said, walking out of the shop with us. We felt he deserved a chance to make a sale because he had been helpful and attentive: his stock just wasn’t right. So, to please him, we visited the other stores. They were in worse condition than the main store; full of junk and obsolete objects piled on each other up to the rafters. If it had ever been made, they had it. But rust, decay, clumsy treatment, and good old wear-and-tear had taken their toll and relegated the stuff to values that could only be appreciated in a museum or dumpster.

So much rubbish concentrated in one place was wearying, and we longed to wander where our spirits could be refreshed and cheered. It was evident that OK Furniture is the blind eye in the dead end at the end of the world and that everything that gets thrown away ends up there. It would not have surprised us to find the odd socks that go missing in washing machines. They have to go somewhere, and I think we discovered where.

Driving back to civilization, I thought about all the junk that we keep in our lives instead of dealing with it and getting rid of it, so that our lives are free from garbage that gets in the way of our reaching our potential of talent and happiness. One of my tutors at university, Nina Collins, counselled us to get rid of the rubbish from our lives. Why hold on to the debris of former unhappy times and failures? They act as brakes on our progress towards better lives, better times, and better relationships.

When we harbour rubbish, there is less room for things that matter. There is an inverse proportion between the rubbish we hold on to and the contribution we make to life’s major aims.

The refuse of our lives gets in the way of making our families, our communities, and ourselves truly happy and fulfilled. We are better for liberating ourselves, and the less resemblance we have to the Shop at the End of the World, the better is our image. As Jesus said, “By their fruits ye shall know them.” What’s in your store? OK?

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Ronnie Bray
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