Editor's Note: I asked Tyler to write about the curious ritual of burying time capsules and then digging them up again. Most of these mummified knickknacks were, in their time, the garbage-de-mode but instead they are entombed, exhumed, and then opened in public time capsule ceremonies. It's interesting! Especially as the cherry-on-top to a week of Throwaways - unfortunately, Tyler wanted to talk about something else entirely.
When I was 7 ½ I made a time capsule: A cool blue tin padded with Kleenex, it was originally meant as a coffin for my teddy bear hamster. But instead of preserving Turbo’s legacy in the nearby woods, I buried my own. In it was a strand of my hair, a chunk of pirate, a wheat penny, an unfinished Gimp bracelet, and a Yomega Saberwing. I displayed these objects across the tin carefully because I wanted to be remembered as a neat person.
About three months later I dug it up. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dirt, strewn to one corner, and my yo-yo’s brain was dead. You can imagine how devastated I was.
All throughout the first grade I had a nose-picking problem. The problem was finding a good hiding spot to wipe them once they were out in the world. Left to my limited devices, I retired them to the bottom of my school desk.
I was prolific. Not only that, I worked often at it because I sat in the corner back row of my class. I knew who was looking and when, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the power got to my head.
In fact, I got downright careless by the time spring came. One day my good friend dropped his pencil and it rolled underneath my desk. He went after it on all fours. The moment he looked up and saw those green stalactites, I knew our friendship was over or, at the very least, fundamentally different.
One of my favorite day trips as a child was to a free-admission amusement park in Elysburg, Pennsylvania. There was a haunted house attraction that I would frequent several times in a day because I usually vomited on roller coasters.
During one of these times, I went on with my father and a hot dog, which I concealed inside my cargo short pocket. There was a point in the ride where an animatronic aboriginal-zombie popped up from some bush, and my plan was to throw my hot dog at his face to impress my father with my aim.
When that part of the ride came, I threw it just before realizing that it was actually a man in a costume. He didn’t make a noise when I hit him, and my father didn’t see me throw it in the dark. At this point I began feeling sick.
When the cart pulled up to the end, the employee operating the machine came up to my father, leaned in close to his ear, and murmured something. Both of them looked at me, and then the man handed my father the hot dog, which didn’t look any different since I last saw it.
by TYLER WILSON