|Since spring is finally here, and with it, the advent of warmer temperatures and the unofficial beginning of yard sale season, it was no surprise that I decided to celebrate the Fred Sanford in me by participating in my first flea market of the year. I have junk, I love junk and I like to sell junk. Normally, I like to have a yard sale at my house, but during one of my recent undercover assignments I discovered a flea market, where, for a small table fee you can bring your own stuff to sell. I immediately liked the idea of this--no hauling and setting up of the tables from the basement to the front yard which can really be quite a task for one person. I also didn't have to worry about the amount of junk I wanted to sell--whatever fit in the Mustang was what was going to the flea market with me.
I had done everything the night before except pack a lunch to take with me. I did that early the next morning and I was out the door by 7:30 AM. Now, depending on where you are from, 7:30 AM can be early, right on time, or why bother going. I almost fit into the why bother going category because when I pulled into the parking lot 45 minutes later the place was packed. I was beginning to panic because I had driven almost around the dealer area and there wasn't a table to be had. I found a spot in the very back row between a guy that makes signs and license plates for folks (Jim Bob loves Sue Ellen) and a group of people that had about 5 or 6 tables filled with everything but the kitchen sink. (They did have a blue bathroom sink that they were trying to sell.)
I spent a half hour frantically setting up my table, moving things here and there, doing my best to get everything set up just right. It was close to 9:00 before I started to calm down and sent Mom a text telling her that I had almost blown it by hitting the snooze button one too many times. Not long after, I made my first sale of the day (a box of books for 5 bucks) and started to notice the dealers around me. It wasn't hard to notice the guy selling license plates because his equipment was hooked up to a generator that ran the entire time he was there. (HUH?) (WHADDYA SAY?)(NO, I DON'T NEED A LICENSE PLATE now, maybe later.) (The generator ran out of gas as I was making that last statement.)
The group on the right of me consisted of 3 women and a Hispanic male and took turns conversing in English and Spanish. It turned out that they were grandmother, mother, daughter and son-in-law and they had been flea marketing for years. I inquired to the mother if she was a writer because she kept writing on these note cards. "No, I'm not, but my son-in-law is. I see you didn't bring a chair with you, you're welcome to sit on my tailgate with me..."