BE ADVISED: This post is sexy and contains TMI. Reader Discretion Advised. SFW (but get back to work!)
Every secret trouble-maker who hopes to remain secretive needs a place to keep their stash of goodies. For the first 13 years of its time in my possession, the Scarf-man Parcel was that place for me. When I got it in late 2002, I kept it in a barely-accessible corner of my room to hide it from my parents. In college, I kept it in a barely-accessible corner of my closet to hide it from my RA, and later, my roommate. It followed me home from college, from apartment to apartment. By then it was just where I kept my private stuff, even though I had no one to hide it from anymore.
The Scarf-man Parcel, which was just an unnamed lock box at the time, usually contained most or all of the following:
- 1-4 grams of marijuana
- A pipe of some sort (metal or glass)
- Rolling papers
- 1-13 condoms
- 1 bottle of lube
- 1 “Personal Massager” from Spencer’s Gifts
- 1 blindfold
- 1 pair of handcuffs
- 1 pair of soft nylon rope handcuffs
- 8 feet of soft nylon rope
- 1 leather dog collar and chain dog leash
- 1 ping-pong paddle
- A bag of peach-flavored pipe tobacco*
- “Personal” letters and photos
Towards the end of its time as a treasure trove of kinky hedonism, I was forced to break the box open because the cheap, faux-metal key that I had been carrying around in my pocket for 13 years had finally broken off in the lock. It was surprisingly easy to bend the metal of the box around the lock and get inside. I guess if my parents ever found the box and really wanted to know what it contained, it wouldn’t have been a difficult job.
In 2015, during what I will describe for now as an extended though temporary period of insanity, I decided that it was time to get rid of the box (okay, I was destroying evidence). I emptied its contents into a garbage bag and scrubbed out the inside. I then shoved the empty, broken box, back into the corner of the closet where it belonged.
A few month later, when some of my cognitive faculties had been restored, I was trying to organize my home-office area. I retrieved the empty box from the closet, placed two sticky notes on the lid and wrote “Scarf-man” across them, slapped some packaging tape on for good measure, and refilled it.
The name “Scarf-man Parcel” is a reference to Multatuli’s critical novel Max Havelaar: or The Coffee Auctions of the Dutch Trading Coffee, one of my favorite books from my time as an undergrad. When my wife and I moved from Virginia to Florida last year, we had to trim our three full bookshelves down to one plastic tote. Max Havelaar made the cut:
In the semi-autobiographical novel, an unusual man, identified only as the Scarf-man at the beginning of the novel, keeps a large package filled with a variety of his own writing inside, along with various notes and scraps of paper.
Here’s the box now:
My Scarf-man Parcel contains writing that I would have otherwise lost to computer crashes before learning my lesson about backing up in 2006. It also holds several editions of my high school newspaper, where I am credited as “Website Manager,” in addition to contributing several articles and poems.
There are also hand-written rants, story snippets, notes, poems, and letters from old friends. I won’t be publishing the love letter I have from my first girlfriend, but you can probably see most of the other stuff.
Anyway, I hope you liked something here, and if you did, please click one of those SHARE buttons below! Thanks for reading!
*(That bag of peach-flavored pipe tobacco lived in the box for years. I got it from a girl I was using some of the other items in the box with and it just kind of stayed there. It made the box smell nice, but I never smoked any of it.)