Shelf Improvement: The Zoom Bookcase Caper

What people will do to become who they aren't. (Muse #80)

Not every imposter wears the same disguise.

Take, for example, the curious case of Wilfred Wiley, an adjunct professor of catering sciences at the prestigious University of Phoenix. Wilfred often grieved that adjuncts don’t get the respect they deserve. “We’re doing all the work and get treated like the scrub benchwarmers of a college basketball team,” he says.

So when Wilfred was tapped to give a series of online events as part of the Eating to Live, Living to Eat Lecture Series, he knew he had to bring his A game. Which is why he became mortified that his Zoom background would be the photos on his wall of The Broccoli Guy — his sports hero who’s also a special education teacher. He desperately needed a bookcase to change the vibe.

“Nothing says smart like a library.”

Step one: a trip to IKEA. The Billy bookcase was a perfect piece. But with six boxes and 790 parts, he was concerned his adjuncthood might not be sufficient to assemble the unit, let alone pick the right stuff at the store. So he hired a high school kid from shop class to help him. Twenty-five bucks and a limited-edition Proactiv gift box were all it took.

Then off to two consignment shops and a used book sale at the library to pick up 200 titles to complete the effect. “Going from Kindle guy to hotshot academic was hard work,” he confessed. “Could’ve just done a virtual background, but that would be so dishonest.”

On the day of the event, the lecture went perfectly. But, unfortunately for Wilfred, this wasn’t the whole story.

Laverna Astor, an avid collector, locksmith and foodie, was watching his Zoom presentation and almost fell off her chair when she spied a copy of Ancient Undergarments of the Mesopotamian Aristocracy on Wilfred’s bookcase.

Who’d have a book like that other than someone who also collected, she theorized. “Maybe, just maybe, he has a Queen Kubaba girdle,” she wondered, a thought which got her so lathered she could barely contain herself.

Laverna — a name that, coincidentally, was also that of the Roman goddess of thieves, cheats, and the underworld — often lamented that she consistently lost locksmith customers when they learned she was a woman. “Makes me so mad, I want to live up to my name.”

So she plotted an intricate heist: lure Wilfred out of his house with free sushi — something most academics can’t deny — at a local Meetup event, then break in, find any ancient underwear and add it to her collection. “When the holy grail is involved, morals go out the window,” she rationalized.

When Wilfred left his condo for his culinary adventure, Laverna was there, lurking in the shadows. With minimal effort, she then broke into the townhouse, where she found nothing more than some Mark Weldon underwear and socks that could be mistaken for historical artifacts, but no antiquities whatsoever. She did, however, eye a tray of homemade bacon Jalapeno deviled eggs that looked so darn good she couldn’t help but sit down to enjoy them.

Meanwhile, about two blocks from home, Wilfred realized that he had forgotten his EpiPen; dangerously allergic to synthetic soy sauce, he had to do a U-turn. As he approached the apartment, there was an unmistakable smell of paprika in the air. And when he opened the door, he saw Laverna gorging herself on his deviled eggs.

More on what happened next in a moment.

My Piano Teacher the Golf Pro

Let me introduce you to an imposter of a different sort: my piano teacher of about ten years, starting at age seven, Mr. Moses.

While he was a fine and kind gentleman, 75ish in age, he had only one passion: golf. I’m not sure what his credentials were to teach piano, but I can confidently say whatever they were, they were dubious at best.

A typical lesson went something like this:

On practicing: “Let’s start with some A-major scales,” he’d say. “No divots this time, please. Make it smooth. Watch your bend. Address the keys.”

On remembering the order of sharps in a key signature: “Repeat after me: Fatter Clubs Guarantee Drives Always End Badly.” This correlated to F♯, C♯, G♯, D♯, A♯, E♯, B♯. For a while, I thought he was referring to my short, stubby fingers, and maybe he was; or perhaps it was about the relationship between power and control.

On those times when I shirked practicing the most difficult movements: “You’re losing your balls.”

Safe to say, my ten years of lessons did not produce much technical proficiency. Indeed, today, I don’t know an A-minor scale from the scale in my bathroom. But I credit Mr. Moses: he kept me playing, which I still do, many, many years later.

So was Mr. Moses an imposter? He taught piano on a golf credential. Then again, he pales in comparison to the current Secretary of Defense, who was trained as a talk show host.

Now Back to the Caper

When we last left them, Wilfred and Laverna were face to face: she moments away from a felony charge … he in the dubious position of having to report her and risking his quasi-criminal bookcase becoming public knowledge.

“I could tarnish the reputation of adjuncts for a decade,” flashed through his mind.

Their initial scuffle went something like this:

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my home?”

“Don’t hurt me, I’m just a collector of five-thousand year-old undergarments. Saw your book on Mesopotamian underwear on your bookshelf during your Zoom presentation.”

“I have that book?”

“You do.”

How many antiquities do you have now?”

“Technically, none. They’re all replicas.”

“So how does that make you a collector?”

“I aspire.”

“Why the fascination?”

“Women have always had to hide how they could appear and what they could do, particularly back in the girdle of civilization. It interests me.”

“You mean, cradle of civilization.”

“Right.”

“Hmmm, so you think they were impersonating someone they weren’t.”

“Right. But not willfully so.”

“Ma'am, you know breaking into someone’s home will land you in jail. Give me one reason not to call the police right now.”

“These deviled eggs are a-maz-ing. You, sir, are in the wrong profession.”

“You think?”

“Instead of teaching catering, you should live it.”

“Instead of collecting undergarments, you should take off yours.”

Moments later, they were naked in bed, and feeding each other eggs. Six months later, they married and became proud owners of “Griddles, Girdles and Giggles,” a unique retail concept featuring pancakes, lingerie and stand-up comedy.

“We may have overreached,” Wilfred will freely admit, “but we’re living the dream.

Epilogue:

When word of Griddles, Girdles and Giggles got out, Wilfred and Laverna were barraged with requests for interviews. During one of them, when asked how they met, Wilfred confessed to the Zoom bookshelf that altered his life forever.

To “repent,” he’s created Wilfred’s List, a weekly roundup of top titles he wishes were on his bookshelf on that fateful day.

And if you were to visit Griddles, Girdles and Giggles, you’d find this sign on their door: “If you ain’t who you think you are, you’re in the right place.”