Third world product reviews - The Closet of Narnia

This being the third world, occasionally we here in NDB find ourselves yearning for items that aren't readily available. English reading material, for example, or VHS cassettes of film classics such as "Smoke Signals" and "Elizabethtown." Sometimes our cravings become more exotic, and we find ourselves jonesin' for a 1986 economics textbook and a pair of used, red swimshorts. Back in the dawn of our time here, when Erin and Sam occupied the room that now belongs to Ousmane, it was not at all uncommon to find the three of us sitting, staring at each other, silently confounded that no one could find a 5-year-old printer box filled with suspicious, off-brand condoms and a stapler. They were hard times.

But lo, the sun has risen and shed its light unto the dark ages through which we wandered. Upon moving into their new apartment, which has passed through the hands of several volunteers, Sam and Erin became the unwitting guardians of an 8x4x2 ft. portal to a world of magic and intrigue.

Sam recalls, "I remember seeing the closet and thinking, 'Great, somewhere to put my many, many pairs of shoes.' Then I opened the thing, and the disappointment was excruciating."

"Sam just started tossing junk out of the closet," Erin explains. "But it never stopped. Crap streamed from the open door like a clown at a children's birthday party, pulling a never-ending handkerchief out of its sick, fat mouth."

Eventually, her husband disappeared into the depths of the closet, and Erin called me, frantic. When I arrived, she was standing in the middle of the room, knee-deep in satellite receiver boxes and copies of Newsweek dating back to 2003, which, judging by the sheer numbers, must have had around 63 months. It was a bizarre, worrisome scene, and I could only think of one thing to say. I looked at the girl, staring into the black expanse as if it was the edge of the universe. "Let's get something to eat."

We came back two hours later to find Sam lying barely conscious at the door, pants torn and a sizable patch of hair missing from the left side of his head. He kept muttering something about a lion, so I gave him some french fries. He couldn't really chew, so we dipped them in ketchup and just kind of laid them on his cheek.

Eventually, after watching ketchup drip into Sam's eye with no noticeable reaction, Erin and I realized the gravity of the situation and sprung into action. For weeks we nursed him back to coherence. Erin really proved the strength of their marriage vows, giving him daily sponge baths and regularly fixing an edible puree to feed him until he relearned how to feed himself. It was sort of like a fish and carrot milkshake. For my part, I spent a lot of time with Sam at the parallel bars as he took his first baby steps for the second time. We also read "Green Eggs & Ham," and he inched his way towards literacy. But for some reason, every time I brought out "The Cat in the Hat," he would cry softly to himself. It took a while to figure out why.

We kept Whitney Houston on constant, 24-hour rotation to give the whole thing a montage-esque quality. I don't think Sam even knew what was going on, but at the very least, I found it inspiring. And after three months - three long months of blood, sweat, and tears - he bounced back. It was an emotional time for everyone, and I think we all became a little bit closer.

During all of that time, those whole three months and then some, the door of the room with the Closet remained closed. Shut to the world, until one day, I asked Erin for a hammer. Without even thinking, she replied, "Why don't you check the Closet of Narnia?" So I did. And you know what? I found that hammer. And I found a light bulb, and some hot sauce, and some porn. We discovered that the Closet held just about everything we never knew we needed, and as long as you didn't venture too deep, it was relatively safe. Which seems like a shitty metaphor for life.

So I give our Closet of Narnia a 4 out of 10. I mean, sure it's a repository for all things known to mankind, but I'm using C. S. Lewis' version as a point of reference. We've got around 50 movies in there, but they're in friggin' VHS, and we don't even have a VCR. I'm pretty sure Lewis' would have had DVDs. Our Closet also loses points because Lewis' version (again, relatively speaking) of the magical world didn't have a giant, obnoxious lion that used weak, liberal sex-crimes legislation as an excuse to do unspeakable things to whoever wandered too far in. If it had happened to me, this thing totally would have been docked another point.