Saturday's trip into the countryside was propelled by a pressing need for a new bookcase for my office. Instead, it was a nice excuse to get out of the air-conditioned house in order to zip about in an air-conditioned car. We went to an old mill town near the Rhode Island border that has an entire downtown dedicated to luring in those seeking antiques. We saw lots of old stuff, not all of which qualifies as antiques. I don't know quite why but old spice canisters and magazines, even when sheathed in plastic, still feel like junk to me.
I knew there were no incredible finds there. Being in such proximity to BOS and PVD and NYC, all the amazing treasures have long since been extracted and are the pride and joy of stealthy shoppers. But it was still amusing to see a raccoon pelt mounted like a bear rug and to puzzle over carvings made in walrus tusks. The arrowheads in that drawer look awfully large and their shape looks more accidental that deliberately crafted by an artisan-hunter. None of this kept me from picking up an old ammunition pouch to wonder if it was really from the French army or to hoist heavy seltzer bottles as I imagined dispensing the makings of an amazing cocktail.
Interestingly, once you get into this mode of doubting objects' authenticity, we continue applying our tests even when uncalled for. Without having purchased an antler-handled corkscrew or an old chemistry reagent bottle, we still had a need to spend. So we cross the street toward the corner coffee shop which has decent beverages and amazing pastries. A short round couple tumbled out of a store front and would have collided with us were we not so nimble (I checked their sandled feet: hairless! They weren't from the Shire). But now outside of antique shops, the guy was still in "is it real?" mode.
He walked by an iron cafe table similar to what is pictured here. And he rapped on it with his knuckles. It was as if he was unsure whether this outdoor furniture was real or resin. The object wasn't for sale as it was clearly associated with a sidewalk cafe. Still, his (and perhaps my) way of interacting the materials was a skepticism about the genuineness of what was in our path. How odd it was to me — not his tactile test — that we continue to rely on senses as tools for judging. Was it hot? Was it solid? Did it ring or did it thud? And now I wonder what equivalent tests of authenticity I have "in hand" to assess whether a science teaching applicant is genuine in his intentions? How might I rap on his head or his record to establish the promise or absence of potential?