Auctions
©2001
Suzy Wurtz
Everybody loves a good bargain. But
it wasn’t until I moved to rural Minnesota ten years ago that I was introduced
to the greatest bargain experience of all time: the estate auction.
Actually, one of my first auction
experiences was not an estate auction, but a charity auction for our 1895 City
Hall in Gibbon. The local auctioneers, who were donating their time, were
charming and funny as they encouraged and cajoled would-be buyers to part with
their cash for treasures and a good cause. This was fun!
I scoured the paper for other
opportunities. Often, the “estate” consists of the possessions of a recently
deceased person, however sometimes sales are held when a person moves to an
apartment or a nursing home from a house stocked with years of living, loving,
consuming and collecting.
One of my next estate auction
experiences, however, gave me a glimpse into my own future. Among the material
assets were boxes of empty mayonnaise jars and plastic margarine tubs. Now I
save things just like the rest of the population, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to
be remembered for saving them. After scoring a few flower vases (because I
couldn’t ever leave empty handed), I went home and said to my family, “If you’re
ever selling all my things, DON’T include wire hangers or margarine tubs.” They
nodded and said, “O.K.” to placate me, having no idea what I was talking about.
One auction skill difficult for me to
hone was subtle bidding: the nod, the minor eye contact and eyebrow movement,
the slight raising of the auction number, the index finger confirmation. I
succeed apparently. My basement began to fill with treasures. I was hooked.
Like any addict who must reach bottom
before rising from the muck, I had to have the ultimate bad auction experience
to break my pattern.
Smug with my local experience, I
ventured to an auction house an hour away from home for an auction of items from
a catering company. Since it was near Halloween, I was interested in some
costumes that were listed. I was surprised to find that the auction “paddle”
with my identifying number also included my first name in large letters.
The event was in full swing as I took
my seat on a folding chair near the front. The auctioneer held up a zip lock bag
with forks in it. The bidding started at three cents. “Wow!” I thought. “Three
cents for a bag with maybe 100 forks! That’s cheaper than buying plastic ones
for a picnic.” So, I held up my number. This auctioneer, reading my name on my
card, kept asking me by name to raise the bid. Quite frankly, he confused me. So
I nodded and kept agreeing to pay more until the bag was “sold to Suzy” for 95
cents. The next item was a zip lock bag with 50 spoons that matched my forks so
I led the chase, clinching that sale for a dollar. Boy, was I proud of myself.
Until it occurred to me: this was too
good to be true. As I watched in silence at the next bag of silverware, I
realized with a sinking feeling that I was paying per individual fork and spoon,
not per bag. I slumped into the brown folding chair, trying to melt into the
metal, trying to disappear.
My face burned with embarrassment. I carefully secured a few
costumes for $5 each, but I’d spent nearly $150 on spoons and forks. And I
didn’t even get knives to match!
On the ride home, I berated myself
for my stupidity. When I tearfully told my husband the tale, instead of being
irritated, he laughed and said it was a very funny story. Though we didn’t have
$150 to lose, he said, “If that’s the most money you ever waste in our marriage,
then we’re lucky.” I hugged him.
I haven’t been to an auction in
years. We still keep those forks and spoons in zip lock bags in the basement. If
we have a sale, you won’t get to bid on the margarine tubs, but that expensive
silverware will be up for grabs. Just remember to LISTEN carefully to the
auctioneer.
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