I recently came across my old CD case—27 CDs inside that past any point of use.
I say that because I no longer possess a way to play them. No Walkman, no sound system with CD rack, no CD drive on any of the three computers in the house, no CD slot in either of our two cars.
The tide of technology has left my CDs beached on the shore. They were dead, really—inert plastic discs. Their only practical use was as toddler entertainment: I sat on the floor with my son for the better part of an hour stacking, rolling, and throwing the CDs around. No doubt scratching them, too. Part of me winced at this abuse. But, really, they were now no more than landfill fodder.
Could I sell them?
No.
How am I so sure?
I’m sure because this past summer, my wife and I joined a neighbor’s Saturday garage sale. We set up a table on the sidewalk to showcase our wares, including the handful of DVDs we still owned. (Likewise, we no longer have a way to watch them.)
The only DVD sale we made that day was a Fast & Furious box set that included the first seven movies. The buyer balked at $20, so we let it go for just $10. Out of dozens of other customers, not a single showed more than a passing glance at our DVDs, all of which appeared in their original case.
So, I know: no one wants my jewel case-less CDs.
How else do I know?
Last year, for the first time since before I was born, more vinyl records were sold than CDs.
At that garage sale, my neighbor had a milk crate of old LPs. By the end of they day, she had sold them all—including obscure Linda Rondstadt albums from the early 1980s.
I know. No one wants these CDs.
Taylor Coe 