All in a Day's Work

Well hello! Welcome to the first blog post of 2012! So far it’s been a great year for thing finding. The slide show features mostly spoils of one very successful day of treasure hunting. So I have a couple of stories to tell… A great day of treasure hunting, things that make me go absolutely insane when treasure hunting, going broke whilst having a great day treasure hunting, the good fortune that poverty brings, and a joke that goes back 30 years that my mom just told me today.

Well the pictures tell you all about a great treasure hunt. But the bad counter service? You need me to tell you that. OK, When I shop, I really shop. I’m fast. I make up my mind in an instant. And if there aren’t other buyers around, I want good service. As far as I’m concerned I’m an ideal customer. I want to buy 30 things in under 20 minutes. Nobody talks me into buying things. I have my debit card out before you have the total ready. If you give me the newspaper, I’ll wrap the items while the counter lady adds it up. I do everything to make it easy on the seller. AND I SPEND! So for the love of all that is vintage and tacky, can you at least sell me things in such a way that shows that you appreciate my business?? Here are some mistakes I saw on Wednesday. I wanted 5 necklaces. They were all safety pinned at 3 different points onto a velvet card. Rather than unpin 15 safety pins, I handed the whole card to the lady and said, “I want all these.” She says, “Great!” and continues her conversation with the old man complaining about what his new hearing aid is going to cost him: the lonely old man who goes to antique stores because he knows the people behind the counter are bored and will listen to his stories because they have very few customers. Then I pick out the 8 gilded Italian wall hangings. “I want all these.” And 6 bracelets. When it came time to pay, she had added it all up. I have my debit card out. And I watch her start wrapping things. This is a store within a giant antique mall. So I say, “Why don’t you just run my card now, I’ll plow through the third floor of the store, pay them, load my car, and come back and collect my bags.” She thought I was rude, but cooperated. And I make little apologies… “Sorry, but working through this whole store is a huge time commitment….” And, “Well you know how us dealers are… We can’t stand still when there are things to look at.” So I finish the shopping job, come back to collect my bags. I got home and a whole bag of stuff was missing. THANKS FOR GIVING YOUR ONE GOOD CUSTOMER THAT DAY SUCH AMAZING AND ATTENTIVE SERVICE. This is why I tell my employees not to chit-chat and talk up the customers. The one you want to pay attention to is the one with their wallet out. And I know you appreciate it.

OK, enough ranting… so I had a great weekend last weekend, and for all intensive purposes, on Wednesday I was rolling in it. So I went a-spending. I finally got around to balancing my checkbook today, before I paypalled the flea my weekly rent. Woah! I was in the red. At 4:30 I realized I would need to dip into my line of credit, known as Mom. “Mom, can I borrow money til Monday? I’m really sorry I was such a crab when you came over unannounced earlier this week.” She forgave me, I swallowed my pride and blew off all my work, and headed for Tiverton. I bought a lot of stuff on Wednesday. And I passed a consignment shop on the way. And I wrestle with the part of myself that makes reasonable decisions. I batted it out of the park the last time I went there. I have no money, no room, no time, and no NEED for more things. But I went in. And found the best piece of carved Bakelite I’ve ever had. It wasn’t very much money. Look, I’m sorry I take advantage of people new to the business. But she’s happy to see me. I spent $160! And I’ll be back every week. So check out the Bakelite palm tree pin with carved pineapples. Mom was happy to lend an extra $160. And she liked the pin. Honestly, my mom was proud of me for overextending myself by that much more. She raised a real go-getter.

Ok, the artwork with the mannequin legs sticking up. Mom wouldn’t lend me any money until I went into her gallery co-op and saw her friend’s sculpture. A mannequin in a garbage can. Well there’s a story: I grew up at my mom’s estate auction business. Rick, the sharp looking old Italian man who used to cater to my every whim and fancy, was the auctioneer. I never knew the Rick who told dirty, racist jokes. So Mom tells me, while checking out the sculpture, Rick’s old joke. “Two old Indians walk past a trash can and see a mannequin sticking out upside down. One Indian says to the other, ‘White man crazy. White woman good for 2, 3 more years.” These are my roots, people, and they are sacred to me.