There is something in the air at a flea market.
Its a mixture of desperation and ass.
And nothing beats ass.
Follow the logic here.
You have some old stuff in your garage or attic that, in the back of your head, you think of as shit you don’t need.
So, rather than do the responsible thing and throw your crap out, you decide to sell it to someone else.
And the flipside of that mentally twisted coin is that, even though your house is no doubt already filled with your shit, you are on the prowl for more shit to stuff into your hovel.
Suddenly that comment about desperation and ass seems even more appropriate.
It seems like an easy concept to get.
Moldy, smelly clothes in your closet will still be moldy and smelly in my closet.
When I was a kid, I used to love when the new school year was coming up.
Because that meant new clothes.
And I was always too short you get hand me downs from my brothers.
And I see nothing with adults catering to the hipsters within and wearing nothing but vintage.
But leave your kid out of it.
Second hand clothes, no matter how cool, is still going to get your little progeny picked on.
Even with the current anti-bullying campaigns.
To paraphrase, there is nothing more pathetic than an underaged hipster.
So, feed your ego and dress your kid how you like, but understand that he will know the taste of water flavored with urinal cake.
The other disappointment of the morning is that no one haggles anymore.
One of the few things I love, without reservation, is haggling a little off of the top.
Like I always say, its important to have a hobby.
The greatest haggle I ever took part in was in Ensenada Mexico.
The shop keeper planted himself in the middle of the sidewalk, and would not move.
He began pitching in a loud voice when I was 20 feet out and closing.
By the time I got to where he stood, towering over me, and I realized he was not going to move, I decided that this was a man intent on making a living today.
“What do you have worth buying?”
His eyes lit up.
A rapid fire inventory started as he herded me into the store.
The second I indicated a watch that I liked, shit in the fan in a real way.
I love the motivation of a man who understands that if he doesn’t sell me, he doesn’t eat that night.
The watch was $350, and well worth the price, according to my new found friend, “Hector”.
Time to counter. $5
Outrage, screaming in 2 different languages, the display was incredible.
However, Hector said he would run it by his boss just to show me the respect.
His boss screamed at him, thru a cup at the wall, slammed a phone book against the desk, pointed at me and may or may not have called me a bastard in Mexican Slang.
This went on for the next 40 minutes, yelling, screaming, back and forth, haggle, haggle, haggle.
It was glorious.
I eventually bought the watch for $20, and yes, I know its a piece of shit that I probably could have talked them down to $10 eventually, but thats not the point.
This was ART, in its purest form.
I tipped Hector $20 in a handshake as I left.
Fair is fair.
I have thought about that haggle many times since then, and especially today.
Hector would have been a god at the flea market.
Oh well, can’t have it all, where would you keep it?
You could always sell it.