I would like to get on to the serious business of items I want but will never buy. Today’s is the Code 38 corkscrew. It’s made for a lifetime and designed thoughtfully, it looks elegant, and you can get it with a belt holster and engraved with your name. It looks like it fits beautifully in the hand.
It is designed for waiters, sommeliers, oenophiles, and the sort of people who give $525 gifts. I want it anyway. And if I had the disposable income and opened bottles frequently or had a glass display cabinet, I would get it. The engineering makes it a small wonder.
But I have no use for it. It isn’t any good as a gift in my life. Of the two serious wine drinkers I know, one can extract a cork in the blink of an eye using the sort of corkscrew sold by the register in a liquor store, and the other is a One Percenter, and he can buy his own damn corkscrew.
And I never open bottles of wine. I live in a dry building. No alcohol is allowed. If I want wine, I go to a nearby hotel bar and order a glass at a huge markup.
“No alcohol in your building?” echoed a stunned nun in a convent I was visiting. I explained that the management did not want the problems that so often accompany alcohol – loud parties and fights, and people quietly drinking themselves into stupor alone. So this nun made sure I got a glass every time they served wine, which was not every day. I found it telling that a community sworn to poverty could manage alcohol with more ease than a community in the world.
I hope you have someone in your life who would rejoice at receiving this as a gift, and that you have the disposable income to buy it for them. You would be living a charmed life. But to me, it is useless and would end up in the bottom of a box of chowder.
This luxury corkscrew, like most of my coveted objects, more or less fits into more than one category – no space, too expensive, and useless to me. However, if I had a vitrine and saved up my pennies to buy one, I would display it in the vitrine. But I not only don’t have the money, I don’t have the space for the vitrine. (The size of my place merits more discussion eventually.) So this item fits best in the category of “useless to me.”