My continuing series on The Book House visit would not be complete without an account of Hick's take on the facility.
The Pony and I only thought he had gone to sit in the car and wait for us. Au contraire. Hick had dumped his bag o' books and returned. He headed upstairs to see if he could find anything old, I suppose. He likes to pick up flea market and auction items that he can use to furnish his creekside cabin.
Hick declared that the railing on the stairs would be in high demand. "People buy those things to put in their houses!" Well. That's certainly deep thinking. I suppose what he meant to express was that it looked like an old piece of history, and antique collectors might clamor for it. Don't worry. I did not let him bring any tools along. So clandestine dismantling while I was clucking at a hen party downstairs was out of the question.
Hick also fancied the clawfoot tub in the bathroom. I think he was just taking himself on an unauthorized tour, not marking his territory. He has a fascination with clawfoot tubs. Notices them in farmers' fields, acting as watering troughs for cattle. Never mind that there is not enough room in his cabin for a clawfoot tub. Or that it doesn't even have a bathroom. Just an outhouse. I shudder to think that Hick is planning to pick up a pair so we can while away our golden years laying side-by-side in bubble-bath-filled clawfeet, watching the sunset. Because there is no sunset down in the woods by the creek. We would have to be in the front yard. A site not conducive to clawfeet courtin'.
Being a safety committee facilitator at work, traveling to safety conventions on the company dime, quoting OSHA bylaws willy-nilly...Hick had a thing or two to say about The Book House decor. "I'm surprised the Fire Marshall hasn't shut them down! That's an accident waiting to happen. All those books crammed in so you can hardly walk. If you're in the basement and a fire breaks out, you're dead." Said the man whose BARn looks much the same way downstairs, yet not nearly so neat, without noticeable walkways, and metal rather than paper as the clutter of choice.
Apparently Hick has also been named a zoning commissioner. "I can't believe that house is sitting in that area. I'm sure they were grandfathered in."
Hick is the kind of person who would tear down paradise to put up a parking lot if it meant he could scavenge paradise for old stuff to put in his cabin.