My friend Stig's account of Clutterer's Anonymous

Stig, is that you?

This wild adventure isn’t mine, folks—buckle up and dive into the eccentric world of my friend Stig! Enjoy the ride! 🚀

Hi, my wonderful friends. I recently attended my first Clutterers Anonymous meeting, and oh my goodness, I just do not know what to say about this organization. I felt like I was in the middle of filming an episode of "Antiques Roadshow." The sign-in sheet asked for our first name and our main items of clutter. Reading over the list felt as if I were perusing Craigslist or classified ads. One lady used six lines to list her main items of clutter, whereas I managed to fit my collections into one line and still had space left for a few more items if I wanted to be more honest with these people.

Now, I am not one to gossip, and I do not feel it is appropriate to mention the goings-on during a twelve-step meeting outside of the group. However, I must say that Clutterers Anonymous seemed less like a self-help group or meeting and more like a flea market or swap meet. As I read over the list, I noticed that the lady with the massive listing had included discarded cigarette packs within her clutter items. I smoke a few packs of Virginia Slim 100's a day and do not find this an item of interest. Moments before I entered the meeting, I noticed a lady digging through one of the outside trash cans, pulling out what I thought were pieces of paper. Once the meeting started, I realized that the same lady was in the meeting and remained quiet throughout. I soon noticed that she kept staring at my chest. It took only a few minutes for me to realize that she was staring at my pack of Virginia Slim Menthol 100's in my pocket.

Throughout the meeting, people stood up and shared stories of searching and answering classified and online ads, such as Craigslist and Freecycle, for their collections. As each person spoke, I noticed several attendees taking notes as if they were compiling shopping lists. When it was my turn, I stood and told everyone about my hobbies and collections, such as trial-size items, childhood Barbies and toys, replica vintage potholders, and various crafts that I have made over the years. I ended with a description of my replica of Damien Hirst's "Lullaby Spring." I noticed the cigarette lady licking her lips as I talked, all the while staring at my chest. When I finished, you could hear a pin drop. I felt as if I did not belong—like I was some kind of freak. I do not understand how people who collect items that varied from empty tea lights, burned-out lightbulbs, dead batteries, crushed cigarette packages, toilet paper rolls, paper clips, pencil shavings, carpet samples, plastic grocery bags, broken drill bits, potato chip packages, dryer lint, and old eyeshadow applicators could think that my collectibles were something freakish.

I was happy to be the last person to speak because the second the meeting let out, I wanted out the door. It took twenty minutes to get to the parking lot as many members of the group approached me. Not one welcomed me to the group; each inquired about items in my collection and made offers. I smoked my last two Virginia Slims, and no sooner than I walked away from the garbage can did I turn to see the cigarette lady retrieve the empty pack. I had to hail a cab to escape the urge to set myself ablaze and run down the street. I paid fifty-four dollars in total to ensure the cab driver circled my block and made figure eights around Los Angeles to make sure I was not being followed.

I called my doctor this morning, and he called in a prescription for Xanax at the Rite Aid on Wilshire. I have been too scared to leave my condo today and called out of work tonight. I even offered one of the clerks at the pharmacy a hundred dollars in cash to bring the Xanax to my condo. Unfortunately, no one from the store would, so I have taken a Valium and a Klonopin from my "Lullaby Spring" display. I hope I never run into any of those people in A.A., N.A., or S.A.

Thank you for reading, Stig Ren