Whenever I get a Pottery Barn catalog in the mail, it's not the Havana sofa or Valencia sleigh bed I want. Nor the Montego pedestal table. Or even the Cara paisley bedding.
Don't get me wrong. If given the chance, Iíd buy it all. Even the family photos.
But more than anything, I want the desks. Or, rather, the jobs that go with them.
Because as far as I can tell, the people who sit at these desks have been hired to:
a. Collect sea shells and put them in jars.
b. Look at magazines.
c. Wait for people to get home from France.
I would excel at any of these professions.
Seriously. One Pottery Barn desk had a calendar hanging above it that said something along the lines of daughter Peyton having a violin lesson on Thursday. Then nothing until Hunter returns from Paris the following Saturday.
Where were the "Call plumber ASAP!" entries? Or the "7 a.m. deadline" reminders? Or the "Teacherís conference: Be prepared to discuss Ritalin" sticky notes.
Did the woman who owned that desk simply clear her calendar for the month?
Did she call her client and say, "I'm sorry, Ms. Martin. I have to cancel our Friday meeting...Yes, Hunter is flying home from Paris...I'll need to be on standby in case he needs croissants...No, this month won't work at all because, also, my daughter has a violin lesson..."
I donít see the calendars featured too often in the catalogs anymore ó maybe because customers were disappointed when theirs became filled with dentist appointments, business travel and youth sports.
So now, I just look at the desks and dream of owning one just like them.
In a recent catalog, for instance, a desk is lined with yellowing paperbacks. The owner appears to be charged with reading 1970s bestsellers.
Another desk has a surfer's magazine, a map and a photograph of an eagle on it.Boss: I need you to surf past a bird and snap its photo. Don't forget your map.
Where do you find these jobs?
I'll tell you where. In the Pottery Barn catalog. Order your surfer lifestyle, complete with a California beach home, today. It costs only $1 billion. But because youíll be weary after a hard dayís work collecting seashells, perhaps theyíll throw in the Montego bedroom set for free.