Please consider me more observant than this, but how have two bins the size of life itself hidden from me all first semester? It happened yesterday, when my eyes filled with opportunity.
It was not a dream out of my first class when I found myself waiting to cross at the Scramble Light. The opposite side of the street, the section that holds North Quad, had two queer looking boxes sitting next to the light post. I was too far away to make out what their purpose was, but once the chirp and turp of the light let me cross I started the investigation.
Box No. 1, which I have now determined is a reapportioned newspaper bin, seemed to be dedicated to books. All visible sides had been hand painted in a crude argument of elementary skill and collegiate aspirations. A frog-like creature sitting on the back called me forth and struck purpose in my life and told me to "take one" and "give one."
The ambiguous "one" I am supposing is in reference to the books. I opened the front of the bin and fell deep into a mash up of pages. Some held merit - "Tropic of Cancer," Zadie Smith's "On Beauty" or an Oscar Wilde - others, not so much. But then I began a thought that has done little to leave me.
If the goal of this project is based on sharing, then all pretensions must, naturally, be left outside the box. This seemingly means if someone wants to get rid of their "Goosebumps" collection, well, they should most certainly drop it off at the Co-op, and someone someday will most likely pick it up.
The honesty of this project leaves a lot of pressure on the public to make it work. Yes, that is maybe too far along the lines of the new criticism school, but a reader-response public project is ideal for a college setting. We are a community, rather than an isolated peoples never straying from our track. We are a community, rather than a school of grown-ups too arrogant to nod to one another. We are a community that shares couches and food, skills and opinions refined or crude.
"Heavens!" I say and jump. I have gotten this far and only mentioned one half of the Co-op experience. If one is facing the Co-op and simultaneously facing north, then directly to the right of the book bin will be one dedicated to music.
This box is much more intricately painted, featuring stencils of the bass guitar-smashing, "London Calling," Paul Simon, words that read similar to box No. 1 and several large audio cassettes.
Naturally, as I had with the book bin, I looked inside. Stacked up against the left side were forgotten LP's - Dick Clark hosts this, The Muppets celebrate that. On the bottom were assorted mix-tapes or, more correctly, CDs. Most held artists I had never heard of, and some I presumed to be local jams.
It should be noted, though, that I was lucky enough to snag a PJ Harvey release. The case had been through a few hands, but the CD played perfectly.
There is no moral here, I suppose. We just all need to make note of the little wonders that are borne from the students here in Muncie and do what we can to take advantage of them.
Peter Cavanaugh is a junior English major and writes 'A Shot in the Dark' for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper.
Write to Peter atpkcavanaugh@bsu.edu.
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