When we last met I was writing a series about auction sales. A two-day minister continuing education event, youth group, Halloween, and Sunday worship interrupted that train of thought. On Monday, I fired up the faux fireplace, curled up into a little ball inside my warmest comforter, like a squirrel easing into hibernation in her underground tunnel and then I read/slept. All day. On Tuesday, the work cycle started over. Now, on a foggy, chilly, Wednesday morning I lounge again in front of the fireplace, this time ready to reclaim my writing routine by collecting my thoughts about the infamous auction sales in small town North Dakota.
Where was I? Oh, yes, the auction mobile–with the same grandeur as the Pope mobile–has rolled into place behind the first of many flatbed trailers. People squeeze up towards the front, and the auction helpers lift the first box of memorabilia. Do I hear 5, 5, 5, who wants 5, 5, 5? If no one offers up $5 for a box of old cleaning supplies, the auctioneer shifts to 1,1,1, do I hear 1? Of course, his tongue rolls and he makes those amazing auction sounds. A hand shoots up from the crowd. Do I hear 2, 2, 2 and so on. Sold! The buyer holds up his/her auction card/number and the sale goes into the computer.
I learn quickly about a certain species of bargain hunter. Let call them buyer #1: they hover near the trailer and buy up those boxes that no one else wants. During a break in auction activity, I stroll pleasantly around the scene, looking nonchalant but really peering into those boxes. I see, for example, old pens and loose paper clips, a magnifying glass and nasal irrigator, half empty box of wax paper sandwich bags and rolls of old electrical tape. Another box holds a fraying macrame plant hanger, old Christmas light bulbs, a wadded up drop cloth, and a cracked measuring cup. It’s the stuff left over after the church yard sale, the bottom of the barrel. Surely the buyer does not actually need or want that detritus. I suspect that they bought– for a mere dollar–the feeling of getting the BIG BARGAIN. This feels so good, that by the end of the sale, they stand next to a mountain of $1 boxes filled with nothing useful. Nothing that can be resold or even gifted. I see the same folks or their clone at the next and the next sale.
At the other end of the buyer spectrum: the antique hunter, or buyer #2. They too hunt for a bargain, but the item of their desire has some value. Since more than one person wants the antique, prices shoot up quickly, often beyond the actual value of a piece. I recall a mirror that sold for thousands and an old wash tub that sold for hundreds. These high-end antique buyers fork over big bucks, but in the end, I think they are buying the same feeling as the dollar-a-box buyer, with a dose of sentimentalism for their wad of twenties.
Most buyers, like myself, are looky lus. Buyer #3 is ready and willing to buy something useful if the price is right. The feeling I go for: sensibility. I do not bid over $2 for a box of miscellany, and it must contain something I really want. One box had a bunch of kitchen towels that I needed for canning. After successfully bidding $2, I rummaged through the other items–apparently the contents of someone’s kitchen junk drawer–and tossed all that stuff into a nearby dumpster. I bought another box that had some storage containers for the camper. I found baking pans and a Snuggli underneath, which another buyer wanted. He asked if he could buy them from me. Sure, I said, and he paid me that same price I paid for whole box–cool side deals go on all the time, I discover.
After an hour of selling boxes off one or more trailers, the auctioneer switches to “guy stuff”. Sale staff reposition the auction-mobile near the garage contents and tools, all neatly arranged on the lawn. The ladies wander off into groups and talk or amble to the chow wagon for coffee. Conversations include an assessment about the prices. So far, I have heard either, this sale is bringing in peanuts or I can’t believe what people are paying for dear departed Matilda’s junk. Of course, everyone is thinking about their own, future auction sale and what their worldly possession might bring as they gaze down from the heavens.
Back to a final round with the boxes. Around 11 AM, the vehicles and real estate sell, then the furniture, and at last the coveted appliances. A 50-year old “deep freeze” brings $100. Someone buys the washer and another person the dryer. The auctioneer tries to keep the pair of appliances together, but the people won’t behave. And then, another auction sales ends. Nothing left except a few boxes that will go to charity. All of grandmas worldly goods are scattered into the four winds. A lifetime of accumulated goods, the family home, the lawn mower, the porch swing, the antique pickup trucks, pouf, gone. On the map of our little town, someone has taken a pencil eraser and removed the evidence of a lifetime, clearing the space for someone new.
Final installment: The Auctioneer is the Smartest One at the Sale
