We Buy Houses

The Big City

Part 21 of 28

I grew up in a house. As far as I know my parents bought it legitimately. They didn’t confide with me a single thing about it. It just happened that one day we moved from the old house to a different one, in a different town, and that’s where I grew up. These days, with there seeming to be some shenanigans about buying houses -- I don’t know the ins and outs -- I should consider myself lucky to have that experience, and how secure I felt.

I’m thinking I was very lucky because there appears to be a thing going on about mass-buying of houses and I have no idea why. Every pole in the Big City at one time or another has the offer to buy your house. Some of them are professionally made signs, stamped out at a rate of a hundred a second, obviously by someone either desperate to find a place or combined interests cornering the market or with some other motive. I can think of bad motives, but I’d hate to nail it with a haphazard guess and find myself in court, brought up on Disparagement and Malice with Malicious Intent, which could get me 5 to 10 in the Big House, which incidentally is up for sale.

O, if I could just gain entrance to the meetings of these people who want to buy every house in town! A fly on the wall, a seemingly mentally-off maintenance guy, or bugging them in their very lair, which might not be up to code. Then I’d find out the real skinny, and be able to swoop in (to the extent that there is malice and justice-doers who would reasonably do justice). But it could be something as malevolent as wanting to tie people up in knots, where they think they’re selling their house when they’re really obligated to pay you consulting fees till the 100th generation. I hope it’s not that bad.

Or, I suppose, it could all be quite legitimate. They’ve examined the market and figured out that if you buy every house in town, eventually people will need to come to you if they want a house. And having cornered the market, whatever price you name is by necessity the best they can get. Unless they go the old route, just buying an empty lot and building their own house. It’s tough for most of us to do that, whether it’s the first big problem, the expense, or the other problems, being so suspicious of everyone that we know that if we tried it the builder would have hidden cameras throughout the place filming us as we showered.

These days you can’t be too careful. I’ve been watching some videos of guys who build contraptions and putting them on their porch like they were a delivery. Someone else comes and steals them fair and square and are later surprised when they explode and saturate their environs with glitter as far as the eye can see. So there’s always someone up to no good. In fact I’ve learned to be so suspicious of everyone and everything, I ask for ID when I see myself in the mirror. And only realize a few minutes later that it was me and my ID’s with me in my back pocket. I look at it and dismiss the case.

Why are all these people -- and it could be the same seven or eight every time, and it just seems like the whole world’s gone house-crazy -- snapping up houses, and lots of crap ones at that?

Book Sale Boo Boo -- What Price Euphoria?

A few of you have already written in, complaining and pointing out the problems with my book sale scheme. And I have to say, I think you're right. What a fool I was! What possessed me?

The weird thing is, In all my thoughts and plans leading up to the book sale, I never once thought of the downside. Of course I knew it'd have some effect on others going to the book sale. And in a way, perhaps this was the real purpose, to screw them over. And let my money do my dirty work. Ouch. These are painful things for someone as normally saintly as myself to admit.

Beyond the psychological troubles I may have displayed in this whole episode -- and I'd first assign some of the blame to my recent $2.1 billion windfall -- there is the more practical consideration of whether undercutting everyone and buying 300,000 books, obviously a mixed lot, to get 1,000 books that I might actually want was a good plan. Now, looking back on it, I have to say the answer is clearly NO.

Frankly, friends, this isn't the first time something like this has happened. I went to a book sale one other time and announced I was buying them all. They told me I had a half hour to get them all out. Being a single person with a small car -- and no $2.1 billion with which to hire helpers -- I had to back out. Even then, I was thinking, Is this any way to build a personal library?

So here I am again, I promise for the last time!  

Reader G.A. wrote in, "How much easier and satisfying, beyond the euphoria of screwing over hundreds of people, it would have been, just to spend your $10 million on quality books at quality book stores, or online dealers. The very dealers you called 'book hawks." Instead of excoriating them, you could have used their services instead of your logistics team, and come up with many thousands of quality books that interest you for a lot less than $10 million."

To whom I say, "Yes, you're right, G.A. Mea culpa. What an idiot I was. It was truly a $10 million boo boo. It had more to do with the euphoria of doing it than the actual books. And, as the old question goes, What price euphoria?" I see that now. It's funny that the logistics team didn't see this angle either.
 
So, point well taken. I feel sort of like God after he flooded the world. "What did I do? Maybe I am just the blind old demiurge the Gnostics talk about. I'm an idiot, guilty as sin. I shall never again flood the earth. If only one of the angels, the angel of logistics, let's say, had raised the slightest objection to my plan! What did I actually accomplish? I killed an entire planet of people just to commend one guy for his righteousness. And he wasn't really any better than the rest of 'em, getting drunk in the end and exposing his male parts to his family. On the other hand, What price euphoria?"

Can you put a price on euphoria? The weird thing about euphoria is it sometimes has a mind of its own. But apart from the book sale, I feel that I've made fairly good choices in life. For one, I'm 62 and don't have any "transmitted" diseases (trying to keep it clean for the kids). And there's nothing more euphoric than those events, I've heard, leading to such unnamed diseases. Those are experiences I shall never know.

Another reader, who was in line at the book sale, has a firsthand take on being screwed over:

Mary writes, "I'm a regular reader of your blog, but now that I've found out firsthand what kind of person you really are, I'll probably drop off. While you were perfectly within your rights to buy everything at the book sale, I want you to ask yourself, 'Was it the right thing to do?' Take into consideration the fact that some of us depend on getting books at sales like this and selling them for our livelihood. I have a daughter who will probably never know what it is to wear shoes, because I'll never be able to afford them now."

This hurts me for multiple reasons. Let me assure you, Mary, I am a nice person, and last night was an aberration. The thought that your little girl has never worn shoes, and now perhaps never will, including her adult life in the future, because of my actions, cuts me deep. I would like you to send me her shoe size and your address, and I promise I will lavish her with so many shoes you won't know what to do with them all. 

As far as the books, if you could tell me what sort of books you sell, I will invite you over and give you a chance to look through them. You would probably object that, yes, I wronged you personally, yet I'm willing to do something about it. But what about all those I wronged who won't write in, and so will see no redress. These are great points, even if I had to put words in your mouth to make them. Write me.

Yes, I see everyone's point. I could've gotten more and better books by selectively buying them from dealers. And I hurt many booksellers by depriving them last night of new stock. Like God promising he would never flood the earth again, I promise I will never ruin another book sale.

I Give $10 Million for 300,000 Books

No matter what they say, I've always known it was true that money buys happiness. And I proved it last night. As a result, I'm the proud owner of-- what must be 300,000 books and probably 8,000 records. Now it's just a matter of finding the time to go through them and pick out -- whatever -- maybe a thousand I want. The key thing for me is, finally, I didn't have to fight anyone for them, and now I can browse in peace.

I'm a long time customer at the Biggest Book Sale in the State, held every year at the state fairgrounds. But you not only have to wait in line for hours, you have to fight hundreds of others to get up to the tables, get your hands on stuff, and then build and keep your stash till you get out. And when I say fight, that's what I mean. Because most of these guys aren't just "book lovers" browsing, but dealers -- sharks -- who know what's good and what they can sell. As a regular joe you're no match for their quickness and domination, hegemony, at the tables. It's a terrible experience.

So for a long time I've thought, What if I were a rich man? And could just show up and immediately buy everything? And send those bastards packing. Well, I found out; what's long been a fantasy is now a reality. Thanks to the billionaire, and my own billions, it's becoming obvious, there's nothing money can't accomplish.

The billionaire had some people who worked out the logistics to make this happen. They hired some guys (probably 40) to stand at the front of all the lines leading into the building. At the last minute I would take the place of one of them, and the others would gum up the line any way they could, once the doors opened. The book sale being for charity, they're always looking for money. So it was arranged that the main man -- their guy in charge -- would meet me at the front door. The logistics team had studied the official filings of the organization and found what they normally make at the sale, which is only around $300,000, a pittance. But I was prepared to offer $10 million for everything. A generous offer, to say the least.

And that's the way it worked out. The lines were backed up, winding up the hill and around the sides. Guys had boxes, bags, tablets (to quickly look up stuff), towels with which to cover their books, to prevent theft, the works. It was the same as every other time, with all the usual complaints you hear in line, "Why don't they open early?" and so forth.

When the time came, I moved in, the doors opened, the guys were gumming up the lines, and the main man was at the door. I told him, "I am in the door, I am the first customer at this book sale, and I am offering you $10 million for everything. Please mark everything sold."

He saw the cashier's check and called immediately for the doors to be closed. We stood there as he consulted around, with his various lieutenants. They went through all the consternation you'd expect, as to what to do with the hundreds of people outside. One of them came and asked me about it. I said, "Once a customer comes in and buys something, it's his. That's all that's happening. But instead of buying one thing, I bought everything." They knew then, there's no more sale, it's all over; keep the doors shut.

Of course someone had to go out -- and they did -- with a bullhorn to explain the situation. "A wealthy benefactor has purchased all the books. From your point of view, this is a travesty. But the financial windfall for us is fantastic." From inside, I could hear their uproar, but book people tend not to riot -- so they had limited options. The police moved in to put the squeeze play on anyone who got out of line. And the deed was done.

[I was told later that the charity people had taken out enough donuts for the disgruntled buyers that most of them were happy by the time they left. There was grumbling, to be sure, because a few of them thought they deserved a few more. You always get hotheads.]

I stayed inside for a while, milling around, looking at my new books. And, as I knew would happen, I saw a lot of crap, stuff I wouldn't want in a million years. But there were the good ones as well, except this time I wasn't stretching just to have some book-hawk dealer snatch it up faster. There's no price you can put on convenience. The place was eerily quiet, with a few of the charity people still murmuring. I heard one guy murmuring, "How are we going to get everyone to come back next year?" Which, frankly, in my opinion, shouldn't be an issue. People can just ask around if I'm expected to show up, and if I am, they will know well enough in advance to just stay home. Maybe I'll take out an ad saying I won't be there, or that I will be, whatever.

There definitely is a lot of crap among these books. I'm not even slightly interested in most of them. But of course I'm interested in quite a few of them, and will be able to make some great additions to my personal library. Which, incidentally, will be moving out of my bedroom into a new building I'm constructing on the west side of town. I bought the old grocery store that's been decrepit for the last 20 years, and am planning something like a $20 million building as my own personal library.

The good ones from today's book sale will be there, of course. The rest, I don't know what will happen to it. I heard there's a fishing worm plant in Alabama that buys old books and shreds them for worm bedding. That's an option, so I'll recoup some of my investment. Making this a cheaper operation than expected.

The World Comes to My Dog

I thought I knew quite a bit about dog behavior. But I've been having problems. Roughage gets up, goes out, eats, plays, etc., and takes a morning nap. All that's OK, but there's some misbehavior, her avoiding my calls and not coming to me, inside and out. What could be the problem? I keep asking. First, obviously, I blame the dog. But she's such a good dog, could it be I'm doing something wrong?

Different ones stop by the house all the time and they get nothing but loving behavior from her. Just in the last few days there's been several visitors, the postman, milkman, paperboy, freezer repairman, census taker, and brush salesman.

They've been very respectful and admiring of her. She goes to the paperboy OK. He's small and non-threatening and pets her lovingly. "She's quite a corker," he said, putting another chew of gum in the corner of his mouth. Good boy.

That's not to say the others have been hands-off. The postman was very kind, taking the bag off his shoulder so she wouldn't think it was a place for kidnapping dogs, and put his hands down. You think of postmen as being very anti-dog -- and probably many are -- but this guy, I believe he said, has a dog of his own at home, and she even has a French-type name, Fifi, and, he said, she's very gentle with everyone. He had nothing but soothing tones for Roughage, calling her "such a good girl."

The freezer repairman was here next, whose whole life is looking at frozen meat all day, with some of it so thawed that it's lost its shape and become a smelly mess. That'd turn off anybody, so you'd think he might be put off by a dog. Being like meat on the hoof. But I noticed he's able to separate the two in his mind. He reached out in friendship. And Roughage took right to him, as though she wouldn't mind visiting houses around town as the repairman's pet. I like that kind of gentleness. And if I should die, leaving her behind, the repairman would make a good father figure/master.

The census lady also came by. Even though we only do the census every ten years and it's not up for another five years. But she's a conscientious person who thinks there's no reason not to take care of some homes early, since she knows we'll still be here in five years. Pretty good planning on her part. She reads the paper and will know if we die (or move, fat chance), so she could cross us off the list then. Otherwise, when the actual census rolls around, she can concentrate more diligently on the ones who are non-responsive and need extra prompting.

I was a little concerned, since they don't include dogs in the census, but the census lady spent some real quality time with Roughage, even letting her chew meditatively on the corners of her paperwork. She was watching, of course, to make sure she didn't chew into the print area. She kept petting her on the head as she chewed, and it had to be a combination of things, the chewing, salivating, petting, and soft voice, that put Roughage to sleep right there in mid-chew. Very nice.

The brush salesman is someone I don't see much anymore. The days of brush salesmen are passed. And this guy isn't even really the brush salesman, but the son of the guy we used to have. His dad, now passed on, left him the bag and samples and he just shows up once in a while to keep the old traditions alive. He took one of his softest brushes and lovingly passed it through Roughage's fur. That, along with a soothing salesman patter, very soft, she was asleep again, the brush passing rhythmically back and forth. About even put me to sleep!

The milkman is also a very gentle guy. But this particular day he was rushed, and add to that, that I hadn't called in my order, so he had the conundrum of "Do I leave the usual order?" or "Will I get in trouble if I don't bring some special thing that he might have wanted?" He worked it out by arriving late, around 10 a.m., knowing I'd be getting up, me and the new dog. He came in and absolutely fell in love with Roughage, wondering, "What could I give her?" Dogs aren't known to like milk products, but he had a few Milkbones in his pack, and she graciously received one from his hand.

So what about the misbehavior? It can't be from the many human interactions she's had, since they were all great. So I'm blaming myself. Playing with her too hard, play-growling as I do, hiding behind things on my hands and knees and surprising her, and throwing toys and letting her chase after them. She seems to love it but maybe it's too manic for an animal whose mind is not yet fully formed. I promise to do better!

Lost Ambition -- The Auctioneer's HEP Guy

It's been forever since I've been to an auction. I just feel like I don't need more stuff and somehow I've had the discipline to stick to it. But a decent auction sale can be fun, if you got all the time in the world and don't mind waiting till they come to what you want.

The best fun I've had at auctions was when I was a kid. We used to go to sales on people's farms, and back then kids had the run of the place. We'd be climbing in the barns, swinging from the rafters, getting stuck down in the cracks and crevices of the hay in the mow, etc. If only the adults back then knew! But, as an aside, back then no one cared about liability issues all that much; this was before lawyers could advertise on TV.

We had some favorite auctioneers back then from here in town. I think the son is still alive, at least last time I heard. Although he'd be probably 75 or 80 now, the son and his old dad, once the auctioneer of the family till the son took that spot. You probably know where that put the dad; he became the HEP guy; I frankly don't know if the son was the HEP guy when he was a kid, but probably. We loved these guys.

I even have some auctioneer semi-shirttail relation, and one guy I've known around 50 years whom we used to go to church with. I still see him once in a while. He had cancer in 2001, the same time as my dad. They even sat in easy chairs next to each other getting chemo. But whereas it killed Dad -- they were about the same age -- this other guy is still going strong. And doing his auctions. I went to one of his auctions where it was the place next door to his home! They sold beefburgers right out of their own garage, which doesn't happen often.

His HEP guy -- I think he was a guy I also knew, but can't remember. I do know that there's my semi-shirttail relation who's an auctioneer, and it really could've been him, the HEP guy for him that day. I think they get together, being old church relation also, and help each other out as much as they can. Different, no doubt, from the HEP guys in the big city, although I'm sure they get that HEP guy jive going no matter who they are and who the auctioneer is.

I suppose I ought to clear up the terminology. I don't know if they call them HEP guys where you are. The HEP guy is the head second banana to the main auctioneer, who's in charge of scanning the crowd for bidders. When he sees one, when he sees action, he yells "HEP!", being a slurred way of saying "YES!" or "YEP!" You can also hear them say "HUP!," "YUP!," and other variations, depending on how carried away they get.

What I prefer seeing, and there's no guarantee you're going to see it, is an auctioneer who's shorter and maybe squat, and a HEP guy who's taller, maybe a beanpole. His skinniness and being crazy gangly makes for some comedic stretching, pointing, peering over folks, and looking down on the auctioneer. Who, being the boss, looks up and gives the HEP guy faux dirty looks and just generally questions his abilities as a man. Wow, this is taking me back, the delights of seeing these guys chiding one another.

I remember this one HEP guy. He had a real lazy character, like he almost couldn't be bothered to sell the item. "This is a TV, we think it works. It worked last time they watched it," leading to the auctioneer rolling his eyes and looking disgusted. "It worked last time they watched it," he repeats, like Ollie Hardy, before getting the first dollar bid, at which point the skinny HEP guy really comes to life and starts working the crowd.

Auctioneers always look for a bid about $10 more than the first bid's likely to be. The HEP guy stands there moving his fingers back and forth, soliciting. But they often have to work it down to a dollar, which isn't always that exciting. This one auctioneer was trying to get a decent opening bid on a desk, but just couldn't, leading him to complain, plaintively, "What's wrong with my little desk?" I about cried. The HEP guy looked hangdog too and moved his hands, and I believe they eventually sold that little desk for $25, a decent price. "HEP! HEP! HEP!"

What I'd really like to see, and frankly never have seen, is a HEP guy with an inferiority complex. Like "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," that kind of "Whoa is me" defeatist attitude. Maybe he comes to the sale a little tipsy, always wishing he might-ever could've moved his lips like the auctioneer, but nothing's ever good enough. Always the second banana. Then he acts out and finally chews out the auctioneer for having the plum job while "Here I stand, forever the HEP guy, always the HEP guy..." Always with the ambition, but always losing out to this, that, and the other auctioneers.

I've been to lots of auctions, but I've never seen one spoiled like that by drama. Incredible discipline.

Gravity Rocks For Sale

I'm in the rock business! I've been selling them on eBay for a few weeks, as a scientific item, so people can prove the theory of gravity for themselves. And I would count it a privilege to have you as a customer.

I saw it on Neil deGrasse Tyson's program how Aristotle -- back in the day -- thought that a larger rock and a smaller rock would fall to the ground at different speeds. It reminds me of my own crazy theories as a kid, and only recently given up, that trees are responsible for the wind, and that steering faster makes the car go faster. Back then it never occurred to me to sell trees and steering wheels, so people had to take it by faith.

Anyway, back when Aristotle said something, that settled it. So no one tried to prove him wrong for around 1,000 years. Until one guy -- Galileo -- dropped some rocks from the Tower of Pisa and saw that they fell at the same speed. The problem turned out to be something simple: There was no one around to sell them gravity-proving rocks, so they didn't know what to do. Making Galileo, I guess, the guy to discover gravity-proving rocks. I claim him, anyway, as my forebear.

And so, now today, I'm making gravity-proving rocks available to the general public. You've heard of Civil War reenacting? And Nazi reenacting? This is Galileo reenacting, much like we've all done chemistry reenacting with our own little chemistry sets. So look for "Ye Olde Gravity-Proving Rock Shoppe," and, thanks to the postman willing to do the backbreaking work of carrying them, you will have these very valuable rocks soon in the convenience of your own home!

The basic package is this: One larger rock and one smaller. These are good sized rocks, with the heft you know they need to fall reliably. Then as a bonus, I include a smaller rock and two rocks smaller yet. Lest you think two rocks competing with one rock might make a difference. Which stands to reason, by the principle of ganging up. You might be surprised!

Of course any enterprise like this, with all of science at stake, has to have good equipment. That's why I personally handpick my rocks, with great care. Once handpicked, I eyeball them to make sure that, to all appearances, one is larger than the other. Once chosen, I clunk them. And if they're not hollow -- none has been so far -- they pass the test, they're good to go. Plus, I can affirm, without equivocation, that each rock is thoroughly gravity-tested, having been subject to gravity for decades and even centuries.

I'm like the guys who sell telescopes and test tubes, all good for up and coming scientists. Both they and I are not in it just for the money, but for the thrill of discovery. I personally think about little kids out there, any one of which might be the next Aristotle, and I want them to be dispelled of their errors early on. Why waste a thousand years? Maybe they'll need Dad to help them get their rocks to the top of the water tower -- one's heavier than the other -- but once propelled toward the ground, Junior Aristotle will be able to gauge quickly, both landed safely.

The Easter Craft Sale -- Post Mortem

I've had a long and hard day, so I'm really not in any mood to make comments about the Easter Craft Sale at the shopping center. But I feel I owe it to everyone to say something, and I'll try to put a good face on it, regardless of how terrible it seemed at the time.

The day started badly. The set-up time is between 7 and 8 a.m. And for some reason my alarm didn't go off, meaning I overslept for the first time in something like 25 years. I'm thinking I subconsciously didn't want to go, and so whatever internal timer mechanism I have tried its best to spare me. Except I did need to go, since I'd already paid the exorbitant $40 fee for my table, up five bucks from last year.

After I did everything I had to do, including loading the bunnies in the car, and going to the bathroom, etc., I headed out to the shopping center, knowing it was going to be rough. Spots for the tables, except for the higher class people, the real long-termers, is first come, first serve. Which ended up meaning precisely how I knew it'd go, the other bastards would grab the best spots, leaving me, the latecomer, the crappiest spot in the world, a few tables past where even the diehard customers are likely to go.

I got a few nasty comments from some of the ones who know me: "Bedhead," "Look what the cat dragged in," "At least you're well-rested," and "Good luck -- You're going to need it." The worst part of the process of getting in was that I needed to make multiple trips past some of these cretins, giving them plenty of opportunities to level their best taunts.

But I finally made it, and got my stuff all set up: A nice blue tablecloth, my signs -- "Lovely to look at, wonderful to hold, but if you pop off an eye or mess up the styrofoam head, we mark it sold.", "Cute, crazy, cuddly," "No photographs or sketches please," and the price card, "$5 apiece, 2 for $9." Now it was just time to settle in for a day of bustling business.

I guess I'm always an optimist, at least going in. Then as the day drags by, I'm nothing but a realist, "I'm sunk, this sucks, I should've stayed in bed..." For customers I had the usual dregs, lots of lookers who can't be bothered to spend a quality minute examining my stuff, kids who have no qualms about bending the pipe cleaners, and preoccupied mothers who foolishly ignore their children's desire for a nice bunny. Then occasionally -- but never often enough -- one will be persuadable, and it's those ones I like. I'm quick to get their cash before they have time to reconsider. They might walk away and the kid immediately breaks the bunny, but no matter ... I just look the other way.

Around noon, I saw some clown with his phone out, snapping pictures of some of the crafts upstream. For which I came prepared. I whipped out two other tablecloths and covered my stuff, then prominently put the "No photographs" sign on top of the whole works. He got down to me and looked a little put out, but I only smiled, knowing I'd scored a major win for our side. Hell man, if you want a picture of a bunny, buy one, then go home and photograph it to your damned heart's content. I don't want my stuff on Pinterest. Knock off someone else's art ... or craft, in this case.

It slowed to a dead crawl around 2 p.m. I was able to get out and talk to some of the other crafters. My day was terrible but they had even more gripes than me. That's one of the great things about craft sales. If you really want to hear complaints, crafters should be your go-to guys. The sale was poorly advertised, the shopping center doesn't respect us, the increased table fee was egregious, and a lot of the browsers are only in the vicinity to use the bathroom; they don't care about us. Plus, we kick around the bad economy and people's decreased disposable income, despite the evidence to the contrary, poor people going by carrying $5 coffee and their grubby little rug-rats eating $4 cotton candy.

I had a few anxieties of my own. One, my sales were worse than previous years. Two, just because I caught that one photographer doesn't mean I didn't miss a few others. A few of these knockoff artists have someone distract you with friendly talk, then they're snapping pictures, only to have the friend drop you like a hot potato when they've got what they want. On that point, I suspect the friendly girl with the deep cleavage who visited with me -- stunning eye contact! -- might have been a photographer's confederate. But she was sweet enough it was almost worth it. And, three, offering a twofer (2 bunnies for $9) about kills my profit margin. I like the come-on aspect of it, I just have to hope not too many customers abuse it.

Oh, I used the word "customers." In crafter language, the word for them is "fresh meat." That's one of the biggest complaints. Listen for it if you get close to a crafter. If they're complaining about "Not enough fresh meat," all it means is they wish we had more customers. If only the stinking shopping center would advertise more!

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Previous Easter Bunny Craft Sales:

2010:
Local Man Makes and Sells Easter Bunnies
Selling Easter Bunnies at the Shopping Center
Last Call for Easter Bunnies
Boxing Up My Bunnies

2011:
The Easter Craft Sale

2012:
I'm Selling Easter Bunnies at the Craft Sale

2013:
Easter Bunnies -- Is This The End of Crafts?

I'm Selling Easter Bunnies At The Craft Sale

Like I've been doing for a number of years now -- I think this must be 10 years -- I'm selling Easter bunnies at the shopping center craft sale. Thank God Easter only comes once a year, because sitting here, and of course putting up with all the crap, can be almost too much.

I'm always an optimist. Especially when it comes to religious holidays. I always think religious holidays ought to bring out the best in people. So that, say you're at a craft sale, they ought to be a lot more willing to part with their hard-earned money for whatever trifles people are selling, for their own benefit, and also because I'm helping them get more into the spirit of the holiday. But no, it's the same old crap, a big disappointment from my point of view

And then there's the craft sale business period. It's gone to hell, I think. The shopping center doesn't respect the hard work we put into crafting They don't respect crafters, period! Except for the bigger crafters, who are practically moguls compared to the rest of us, the peons. That really came out this year especially. The way they had us set up this year, of course we were down at the far end, in the vicinity of the stores that start up and shut down a few weeks later.

But here's the twist this year: They set up the moguls first, then dribble dribble dribble, you have the next top dog, then another, and so on, until you get to the true peons, the few of us with only one table each. I was right there -- those bastards -- at the very end of the line. So that by the time any customer might ever wander down as far as me, they'd most like spent all their money, or were looking like they thought they'd be mugged if they went much farther.

I'm very fortunate that I only do this one sale now in the year. Because there's nothing more unpleasant than hearing the grousing of crafters at craft sales. Which I actually caught myself joining in, because, for crying out loud, what are we, scum under people's feet? By the time you put money into your supplies, your table rental, and the entire day's time, you're lucky to make pennies on the dollar. You're sitting there like some kind of off-scouring, with squalling kids and cranky mothers who don't feel like buying them cute bunnies, etc. It's enough to drive you wacky.

But I'm focused on my own grief. My own grief keeps me very busy. Although, yes, I was listening to what everyone else was saying. About the moguls and the rest of us. That was a big topic of conversation. What I really think might be behind it, ultimately, is the old tactic of divide and conquer. Like this: The shopping center knows we hold a cudgel against them for the yearly mistreatment. But what if they divide the crafters and get us at each other's throats? Suddenly, we're not standing united and the shopping center steamrolls us. Not that standing united really has done us that much good in the past.

But take this year. If we'd been united, maybe they would've rethought the increase on table fees. Five damned dollars more! And I can't raise my prices. I'm already scraping the bottom as far as any profit goes, but in a bad economy, you tell me, is anyone going to pay top dollar, even though they're clearly worth it, for a few styrofoam bunnies? No, the morons are pinching pennies, probably saving their money for food or cable TV, which also goes up all the time.

Add to my misery the fact that I always feel I have to give them a bargain if they buy more than one. They're $5 each, OK? It's set in stone, because I can't raise the price, as I said. But if you buy two, then they're $9 total. I'm losing a whole buck everything someone wants two, which is about the same as giving the damned things away. A few twofers I can absorb. But if people knew my margin, they could wipe me out on these sale just like that! So I'm sitting there praying two things, 1) For a sale period; and, 2) Please buy them one at a time; the twofers aren't helping me...

That's the financial beef. Then there's all the rest. Like everybody and their damned cameras! You tell me: Isn't it widely known, universally known, that you don't take pictures at craft sales? It's simply not done! It's forbidden! And for very good reason. We don't want the rest of the world taking pictures, then stealing our ideas and making their own crafts at home. This is a point all of us agree on, mogul or peon. On this, in fact, it's the moguls leading the way. They go to enough craft sales, they have professionally-made signs, full color with illustrations, a camera in a red circle crossed out, meaning, "No cameras allowed! No pictures, please!"

But the big difference between now and, say, 10 years ago, is there's a lot more cameras. And people, especially kids, who aren't shy about popping out their phone, then whipping it up to take a picture of your stuff. They don't think a thing of it! It's in their nature now! They're stupid! "My hand is permanently affixed to an iPhone camera." People used to have five fingers, now they have a sixth finger, their camera! That's what it looks like. So there we're sitting, the crafters, rolling our eyes at each other, trying to bite our tongue, and casually putting the signs a little closer to the flow of traffic. Fat lot of good it does. They don't teach reading in school anymore!

I'm sitting there, watching all this go on, and I was that close, I was about to bust. But thank God I held it in, for the most part. Because this one guy, two tables up from me, he had his fill, and he did bust. It was after noon, he hadn't eaten, thanks to being at the end of the line and only making two sales -- he paints smiley faces on jelly beans -- so he busted. And I know that's no excuse. But these brainless teenage girls were going in real close on his beans, snapping pictures of the smiles.

Well, he showed them a scowl! "Do you not see these signs? 'No photos allowed.' This isn't a photo studio, darlin'! The items you see on the tables are for sale. Otherwise, everything you see is copyrighted, my intellectual property. So no pictures, thank you!" That was a very snide 'thank you,' which really showed them, since they immediately left with a bunch of swear words barely concealed under their breath, and, incongruously, giggling. The guy was sitting there, red as a beet, and fuming. He looked around for some support and our eyes met. I gave him a thumbs up, then decided to rearrange my table.

It's been dead since then. Like some kind of cutoff point. Like maybe the girls went back and spread the word. Probably not. It's just always that way after noon. The ones who wanted something got here early. Anyone who shows up after noon is here by accident, and they don't care. To them you're just garbage blocking the halls. Except for me, I'm so far down no one generally makes it that far.

So the bottom line is, I sold only a few, less than 20. Some of those were twofers. The good news, if I'm willing to dig for good news, is I won't have to make quite as many next year, since I still have plenty of stock.

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2011 - The Easter Craft Sale
2010 - Selling Easter Bunnies at the Shopping Center

Bedman's Downfall

We're getting too many dancing people dressed in pizzas! They're clogging up the side of the road! It's too much! It's making me hate pizza!

What happened to the good old days, when the merchants simply waited for us to show up or had faith? They don't leave anything to chance now, taking every opportunity to stick it in our face, as though we didn't know they were there.

Probably the worst one has to be the income tax preparers. Seriously, income tax preparers dancing on the side of the road. Dressed like the Statue of Liberty, cheapening one of our best loved statues. I don't really see the point. You might stop in for a pizza on impulse, but I never just happen to be carrying tax papers and receipts.

The whole thing reminds me of the only guy I ever knew personally who was a road dancer. He's Kevin something, but to protect his anonymity I'll just call him Bedman, since that's the job he had most recently.

Kevin/Bedman actually did start as a dancing pizza, but he was just a big single slice. He told me all about it. He was full of complaints. He had what you'd call a sadistic boss, one of those guys who liked to grind it in his employees' face that he's the boss and they're the underlings. He'd be out there dancing quite a bit without a peep from his boss. But if he slacked off, Boss would call on the phone and criticize him. He was looking out his office window (a one-way mirror), so you couldn't tell when he was watching. He'd call to complain, that Kevin was "too lazy," or if he was dancing wildly, he was "too manic." "I'm paying you! I don't want to lose my reputation!" That kind of crap. In the end, he got fired.

Other jobs he had around town: He was a dancing cookie, a dancing pulled pork sandwich, a dancing oil filter, and the dancing dollar sign outside a payday check-cashing place. He didn't get fired from those jobs, but he was in demand because he could stand the changes in weather, the long hours, etc.

The last job I know about along these lines was when he became Bedman, obviously for a bed store. Bed World, Bed Universe, something like that. He was inside a big mattress, of course carved out so he'd fit in it. He was perfect, because they needed someone with strength. It's not a job for a small or even medium-sized woman, certainly. It'd take a man, or a very husky gal, and he was perfect.
 
Among the skills needed, other than carrying that much girth, is watching the wind. If southerly, you have to put the edge of the bed into it. Then be able to adapt to any shifts, along with the man-made gusts coming from traffic. Then somehow keep up a dance good enough to provoke people to come in and buy a bed. That's a lot to ask. Especially with the wind, because you've got the enormous broad surface. You have to have the skills of a cruise boat captain, or someone more competent, to keep it righted.

But what if the wind gets super tricky? A southerly breeze that shifts to the east just like that! Or that whips from the east instantly to the west, if that's possible. Or does a quadruple whammy and goes through the four directions and all the angled combinations in random order. Something like that must have happened because he definitely got flipped into the road one day.

To hear him tell it, it was terrifying. How he struggled to keep up with the wind before he fell or was pushed into the road face down. That'd be very terrifying, hearing the traffic honking, trying their best to avoid hitting him, because no one wants to mess up their car. I'm just trying to picture it. Bedman's out there struggling, flopping around. And nothing's any good. But what can he do except keep up the fight? Then somehow, thanks to the strength in his legs, he got the damned thing flipped over, which was half the battle.

Now he could at least push his head up, like a turtle, so people could see it wasn't just big debris on the road but an actual person craning his neck out to get their attention. He's doing everything he can to get to his feet, he said, when a semi truck going by helped him with a big gust of wind, pushing him back, and toppling him, on the curb. It still wasn't all the way, but far enough to keep from getting killed.

Then, getting his breath, he was able more easily to push himself with his legs all the way on to the parking strip. He said he looked up at the sky and thanked God. Then he heard the honking of geese and saw them fly by, heading south, and reflected on the miracle of life, which is a happy ending.

Kevin had a better boss at the bed store, who when he finally came out was understanding. Of course he didn't lose his job, but in fact was given an extra 5 minutes (on top of his normal 15 minute break) before waddling back out to finish his shift.

Criminal Carpet Store: Everything Must Go!

The carpet store just opened yesterday, and already today we're declaring, "Everything Must Go!" The lifespan of the criminally-operated fly-by-night carpet store being a week at the max, everything has to be very compressed.

We had a great day of sales yesterday, on our first day, and now that we trying to thin out the excess merchandise, of course the values are great. My personal recommendation to each of you is, If you need carpet, you better get down here, because it's going fast!

Customers were waiting at the door when we opened. I quickly scanned the crowd for anyone from yesterday who might be back for a refund or with a complaint, and seeing none, I stayed in sight. I welcomed them in, feeling very robust, but now that the day is wearing away, I'm getting a little fatigued. Still, as long as they're spending money, I'll be here to take it. Proudly! Knowing they're getting value for their money, something pretty resembling actual carpet.

So things have been going great. Except for one little thing. When I got here this morning, there was a minor fiasco. Some of the boys from the gang had brought in some new rolls last night which I didn't know about. I sat down to take a break and put my feet up on one of the rolls. I was shocked when the tufts started coming off on my feet. Obviously, they hadn't been gummed down properly with "Three Week Protector," so I had to fly around spurting it on haphazardly. There was no time. The only thing I've worried about today is if there's carpet coming off on people's hands while they're carrying it out. But there haven't been any complaints. I'll just have to be extra careful when opening tomorrow.

Like I said, sales have been great. The psychology of "Everything Must Go!" really plays with the folks. Who knew? They're more interested in scoring carpet before other customers get it than they are the price. Giving me the opportunity mid-morning to raise the price 10%, and no one complained. And since they're really stocking up, I've sold lifetime guarantees and all the various cleaning kits and supplies with every order. Every order except one. A teacher stopped in for a remnant for some school project, a little square, and she wouldn't buy the lifetime guarantee.

My two most memorable sales went to the very old and the very young. An old couple essentially needed a throw rug for their hall, something they said would be about 2½ foot by 8 foot. But I saw an opening for a bigger sale if I could keep some fast talking going, get them confused, and quickly close the deal. So they went out with enough carpet for one or more houses. My biggest fear was their skeptical son, who had to bring his truck to pick it up. But one of the guys told him I was on break.

The other sale was to a young couple, flush with cash from two sources, marriage gifts and their tax refund. My sales pitch was to buy all the carpet you think you might need in your life, because the prices are only guaranteed to go up. So they really loaded up, the young man's father having to rent a U-Haul truck to take it all away. (He was also skeptical.) As to the lifetime guarantee, they needed several, because I came up with a new policy on the spot that a lifetime guarantee only applies to a single type of carpet, and they bought several different ones. Plus, there was two of them, a husband and a wife, so that's two guarantees needed right there. Hey, no one held a gun to their head, although of course that could've been arranged...

We're raking in the money. Faster than printing it. And my aim is to do everything I can to rake in more. Because if I excel at this job, who knows what heights I might rise to in the organization! This time next week I could be one of the big bosses, if not before!