Superman landed in the Dan’s Papers office yesterday.
Why, you ask, did The Man of Steel choose our humble newspaper office as his new Fortress of Solitude? You can thank me for getting him here, and my wife for ensuring he stays.
Anyone who’s visited my desk in the editorial and web department here in Southampton knows that I’m a bit of a freak when it comes to toys and collectibles—especially anything that resembles a superhero. At any given time, my desk will be populated by a handful toys that aren’t quite cool enough to stay in my collection at home. Right now, for example, I have a little Funko POP version of Tyrion Lannister from HBO’s Game of Thrones, a vintage PVC statue of Todd McFarlene’s Spawn character from his 1990s comics, and a miniature statue of Hawkeye from Marvel Comics’ Avengers—in the costume before his Jeremy Renner-inspired Hollywood getup. I also have a few translucent PVC representations of Marvel heroes, including a green Hulk wearing pants made of a purple rubber band I found, a replica of Two Face’s Liberty dollar from Batman, and two figures of lesser known DC Comics characters—Deathstroke and Deadshot (scary names, I know!)—in my drawer.
But none of these compare to Superman.
As of Monday, this giant, 31-inch-tall version of the big blue boyscout, complete with red fabric cape and seven points of articulation (two wrists, two shoulders, two legs and neck), is keeping watch over the bullpen, and I’m pretty happy about it.
You’d think a collector would want a prize like this at home, but I’ve decided to avoid what would be certain conflict with my wife Colleen. The poor girl already endures enough of my collecting compulsion without having to deal with this toy that is bigger than both of our dogs put together. Though Colleen is usually pretty easy going about my toys, a serious tongue lashing would definitely follow any attempt at bringing this tremendous Superman through our front door.
The figure exceeds the size of anything I’ve bought before. It’s totally absurd, but he was impossible to ignore. I found him standing there, overshadowing every other toy at Walmart, and when I read the $15 clearance price tag, there was no turning back.
I shelled out the money and, after a brief moment of buyer’s remorse, left the store and quickly stashed the figure behind the backseat of my car. By the time I reached home, it was settled—Superman would live at the office, where I could enjoy him five days a week without repercussion.
I reached the office without incident on Monday. My clandestine operation was a success! And my wife is none the wiser, but I’m wrestling with some guilt.
So, consider this my confession.
Now I just need to figure out how to keep Dan’s dog Bella from cowering in fear every time she sees the new office mascot.