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Tag Archives: comedy

Monotony-itis and the February Blues

11 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

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blues, comedy, entrepreneur, february, monotony, picking, retail, VINTAGE, winter blues

In the world of retail sales, there is sometimes a little downtime.  Who am I kidding?  There is a lot of downtime.  Being that Jill’s shop is small, standalone and off the main drag, there can be long lulls between activities.  Occasionally, Monotony-itis will set in.  Monotany-itis is categorized by several key conditions:

1.)  Pacing – walking from window to window, wishing, hoping and even willing customers to descend upon your establishment.  Although this constant peering from the windows by the proprietor gives off a Norman Bates vibe to the place, it cannot be helped.

2.)  Searching – looking thru web page after web page for non-existent auctions, clever products, and odd distractions to occupy your time.  Acute searching typically includes random YouTube searches, especially when involving celebrities, monkeys or skateboard accidents.  Severe searching may even include QVC scanning and, in extreme cases, later-regretted purchases.

3.)  Cleaning / Rearranging – this condition of Monotony-itis can be one of the most severe, defined by the overwhelming need to straighten up, freshen up and move large items to change the appearance of an overall space.  It begins with an innocent task of dusting…just a little touch up.  Then it progresses rapidly.  A chair is moved, a painting rehung…next thing you know, you’re hiring a crew to stack two pianos on top of each other to create the perfect backdrop to stage a dish sale.

Although not inherently dangerous, it becomes dangerous thru means of small adjustments to certain items to establish the perfect retail appearance.  Anyone who is married has seen this condition firsthand.  It is easily diagnosed by the tell-tale language of altering a space’s appearance:

“Just a little more to the left…no my left.  Almost there…almost there.  No, that’s too far.  Back to your right…no your other right.  YOUR right hand, dummy!  Now lift it up so I can see it.  Hmmmm…ok, I don’t like it there at all.  Let’s start over.”

In its final stages, that thing being lifted for approval will be a twenty-five foot mirror, a came-over-on-the-Mayflower armoire or an anvil.  Which brings me to the final stages of Monotony-itis…

4.)  Cursing – the final stage of Monotony-itis brings on a flurry of curses that would wilt flowers from a block away.  The simplest form of cursing is brought on by a physical manifestation, for example, an antique filing cabinet smashing a toe during condition three.  Or it could be brought on by the more dangerous mental manifestation.  This is when all the pacing, searching and rearranging hasn’t resulted in an on slot of customers and doubt begins to set in.

“What am I doing wrong?  Why isn’t anyone stopping?  Why can’t my shop be on a beach in Puerto Rico?  Oooooo…a Mojito sounds good.  I should be on a beach sipping a Mojito!  Instead of freezing in Kentucky!  I don’t even like horses!!  WHY, OH WHY!!” Followed by, as Bill Cosby would say, foul…filth…flarn…foul.  Amazingly, condition four is actually the cure.  Once there is a little cursing outlet, there’s a release, then everything becomes right with the world and condition one begins anew.

I suspect most retail establishments go thru bouts of Monotony-itis as none are fully immune, especially following the Christmas season.  In Hamburg I doubt the symptoms are as severe due to their steady traffic flow.  But when you are a secluded little specialty shop off the beaten path, it is very easy to allow that humdrum feeling permeate deep into your very soul.  So what to do, what to do?  (Cue patriotic music.)  How can we ban together to fight Monotony-itis?  How can we, fellow shop owners and retail entrepreneurs help fight this horrible condition so that none are ever afflicted again?  Shall we wear ribbons raising the awareness of Monotony-itis?  No!  Shall we march?  No!!!  The answer is simple my friends…you just gotta have a little fun.

Sorry about the anti-climactic ending, but it’s true.  That’s how we battle the little bouts of downtime and it works pretty well.  When there are no customers in the shop, and no items to procure, we come up with little ways to goof off and help pass the time between auctions or customers or whatever.

Give you an example:  recently we were doing some painting.  My mother-in-law was coming by to check on my progress, but also to visit.  Jill and I hatched a plan.  Well, I hatched a plan and Jill approved.  I took a small bowl and filled it halfway full of small ripped up pieces of white paper.  I cleaned out my paintbrush so that it was spotless.  When my mother-in-law arrived, I cupped the bowl and held the paintbrush as though she had just caught me in the middle of a stroke.  I bid her a hearty hello and briskly walked toward her, theatrically faking a stumble and clumsily spilling the bowl’s contents onto her.  As expected, she thought it was paint spilling from the bowl and, given my strong proclivity to falling, it was an easy sell.  She shrieked.  Then she cursed.  Then, being a proper Southern lady, immediately swore revenge.

One time during the autumn, while sitting out front enjoying the day, we noticed a lot of people walking their dogs.  Big dogs, little dogs…seemed like every person in the neighborhood was attached to a canine.  So we started making quarter bets as to which type of animal would appear next.  Each quarter wager bought a single chance:  how big a dog, what color dog, what family of dogs, would it bark, would it have a retractable leash, would it look like its owner…all questions on which we would gamble.  I don’t recall who won, but it made for a fun way to pass the time.

Last week, I had a good one on Jill.  We had just shared lunch when I recalled an old gag I had heard from native Kentucky comic, Carl Hurley.  I set the stage:  I called Jill on her cell phone:

“H’lo.”

“Hey Jill.”

“Hi darlin’.”

“Listen, I just got a call from a fella’.  He said he wants to look at an item he saw in your shop when he drove by yesterday.  He wants you to call him at his work.  You ok with that?

“Sure.”

“Ok.  He works over at the Bluegrass Stockyards on Lisle Industrial.  His name is Mike.  Now, he said there are several other Mike’s that work there, so when you call, ask for him by his full name.  His last name is Howe.”

“You got it.”  I proceeded to give her the phone number.  If you haven’t figured out the joke, as Jill hadn’t, I’ll help you along.  Jill would shortly place a call to the Bluegrass Stockyards and ask for Mike Howe.  Get it yet?  Mike Howe.  (Might want to read it out loud several times.)  Mike Howe, when coupled together, sounds like My Cow.  So our heroine would be calling the stockyards, ultimately asking to speak with her cow!  Ha!  Here’s how I imagine the conversation would go.  (I have replaced Mike Howe with the phonetic version for ease of reading.)

“Bluegrass Stockyards, how can I help you?”

“Hello, this is Jill, and I was calling to speak with My Cow.”

“Uh, I’m sorry honey, who did you want to speak with?”
“My Cow.  Is he available?”

“Honey, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“My Cow came by my shop today and wanted me to call him back.  Is My Cow there so I can speak with him.”

“Well, we have lots of Cows (Jill would have heard, “We have lots of Howes here), but I’m not sure any of them can talk.”

“I know, but I just want to speak to MY Cow.”

I didn’t get the actual conversation.  Since I pulled off the gag, that information was withheld.  I guess she figured that would just be too much for me to handle.  I might just suffocate from lack of oxygen while laughing so I think it’s safe to say, we find ways to occupy our down-time.  Sometimes the downtimes are the best times anyway.

Chaddy Daddy

Chaddy Daddy

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People Watchin’ at the Friendliest Auction House on Earth

13 Sunday Jan 2013

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

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antiques, auctions, bidding, comedy, dukes of hazzard, estate, people watching, sales, VINTAGE

One of the greatest luxuries the auction/garage sale/estate sale format provides me is people watching.  I love people watching.  And ultimately, I love people.  Big people, little people, different colors, different appearances, etcetera.  But the thing I like most about people is their comedic presence…their quirky eccentric true-self that somehow eases its way out that even the most polished individual can’t squelch.  It’s that goofy commonality that, even though we perceive ourselves as individuals:  rich, poor, fat, skinny, smart, dumb…it somehow links us back to each other, making you realize we all do the same stupid…uh…stuff.

In case you are confused, I’ll give you a quick example.  Ever see someone slip on ice?  Ever slip on ice yourself?  Funny as hell isn’t it?  No matter where we are mentally when it occurs, we pause for a brief slice of time to flail and fight gravity and no matter whom you are, you become instantly the same as everyone else who has ever slipped on ice:  a goofball.  How about when you are sitting next to a vehicle in traffic and the car next to you starts to move, but you can’t tell if you are moving or if they are.  You become dumb as a brick don’t you?  How about when you check your watch to see what time it is.  A friend sees you do this and they ask you what time it is…and you can’t remember the time YOU JUST CHECKED!  HA!  Ignorance may be bliss, but not when you are quite aware of it.

I also like the aesthetics, to be kind, of people as well.  Now let me preface…by all rights I am a goofy looking guy.  I am 6’1″ and probably nearly as broad as I am long.  I wore a size 13 shoe when I was 13 years old, then graduated to a size 14 when I was 14 years old, and have been holding steady ever since.  I have a good head of hair, but it never gets long.  When it isn’t properly attended to, it morphs one of two ways:  either it “fro’s” up, I mean straight up…Don King up, or it turns into what Jill likes to call evangelist preacher hair.  Preacher hair is that extra tall, uber-fixed hair that the Sunday morning talking heads sport whilst delivering their fire-and-brimstone sermons.  Although mine isn’t the obligatory silver fox color yet, antiquing or Jill may soon be the culprit if that life change does take place.

Since I prefaced by saying I too suffer from chronic goofitis, then I don’t feel as bad poking fun at others for their, ahem, aesthetic oddities.  One more thing on the subject and I will get on with my story.  I don’t take pleasure in other people’s misfortunes.  For instance, if someone was horribly disfigured or something of the like, well that’s just not funny.  The aesthetic funny I am talking about is obvious life choices to project yourself a certain way.  Take me:  if I came to your house with my big foot and gangly stature wearing clown shoes (although they practically are anyway) and spandex, well fell free to jest your fill.

The target auction today was to be held at night.  Most of the time we focus on early morning auctions which we believe will give us a full day of lookin’ and buyin’.  Night auctions offer their own challenges.  Usually nighttime auctions are held by auction-houses and although they have lots of good stuff, it rarely affords us the ability to purchase since most people raising their hand during evening auctions are bidding for items to place in their own home.

We arrived a few minutes late due to a slight miscalculation by the Geep-us, the nickname we’ve given to the GPS.  I rustled up a bid number, Jill did a quick scan of the items and we both met somewhere in the middle to choose our seats, a standard practice we have repeated dozens and dozens of times.  The auction house was full of characters, a very animated auctioneer and filled to the rafters with the smell of popcorn and soup beans.  I immediately liked the place.

We sat in front of a group of older gentlemen who gave a running commentary of the auction.

“Sellin’ a dress, Harold.  You gonna bid on ‘er?  Don’t you need something to wear on yer tractor?  HaHaaaa!”  Or, “What tha hayle is that?  Well, I threw something away that looked better than that just last week.”

They reminded me of the two old guys in the balcony on the Muppet Show.

There were a couple of ring men that helped catch bids and deliver items to the crowd, via “right field” or “left field” as the auctioneer described direction.  The auctioneer himself was wearing a cowboy hat and spectacles.  I referred to him as “Tex with Glasses.”  When he wasn’t calling the auction he was relatively quiet, a rarity for auctioneers.  I have found that once an auctioneer chooses a profession in which he must talk fast, it’s tough to exit that speech pattern.  But this auctioneer left the talking to one of the ring men who also had a microphone, another rarity in the auction world.  I affectionately called that ring man “Uncle Jesse” due to the similarity between him and the Dukes of Hazzard character.  He had the same white beard, the same blue-jean overalls and the same half-moon belly rounding out the overalls.  He was funny.  It was all I could do to stay in my chair when he belted out his unintentionally comical one-liners.

uncle jesse

“Folks, thanks for coming tonight.  Without your bids we wouldn’t have an auction.”  Tex with Glasses nodded in solidarity.

Lawn darts came across the block.  We missed out.  Then we got a pair of so-ugly-they-hafta-be-cool chairs.  They didn’t look too heavy which, as being the designated muscle, was good for me.  While Jill calculates the amount we have spent at auctions, my litmus test was assessing the weight of a particular object.  If we were paid by pounds I sometimes feel like I would be a millionaire already.  Next was a damaged coffee table, the same one we have in the store.  The damaged one went for nearly as much as ours, which is in pristine condition!  Amazing how values can be so different in just a short distance.

Two more ring men were running items back and forth, creating a festive scene of items carried over top of peoples’ heads, of stuff entering and leaving the auction block and of Uncle Jesse constantly telling a tale, expressing gratitude or describing the condition of a particular piece.

“Folks, we couldn’t get it to go,” he said while describing an 8-track turntable cabinet, “but there shouldn’t be anything wrong with it.”

The next item was an old radio pre-tuned to a county music channel.  He fired up the unit and when the sweet sounds of hillbilly rock bellowed from its innards, the bidding inevitably increased.

The ring men themselves were comical.  One had a chiseled lower chin that seemed to constantly fight with his upper jaw producing a little I-know-something-you-don’t grimace.  The other, a considerably older gentleman, although you wouldn’t know it watching him dart sold items to and fro with lightning speed, had a Band-Aid on the right side of his head and sported a “Coroner’s” vest.  In my own mind I chuckled at the thought of how the two adornments were related.  Due to his speedy demeanor, had he reacted too quickly as coroner and, after trying to zip an innocent bystander into a bag, received his mid-head injury?  I never got the nerve to ask.  Besides, my wit isn’t for everyone and I was well outnumbered.  I feared retribution from a man who obviously knows how to get rid of a body.

The items began to slow and I started loading up.  I did catch one final Uncle Jesse-ism while moving purchases to my waiting Suburban.  “Well now folks I tell you what…this is ’bout ret-ta-row as I’ve ever seen.”  Jill bought a couple of ret-ta-row items on principal.  And if you come to our shop, we have both styles…Retro and ret-ta-row.  Now I have to warn you, ret-ta-row is rarer, thus a little more expensive, but I think worth it.

All razzing aside, that was about the friendliest auction house I have ever visited.  On average, the auctioneer said a heartfelt thanks for coming or thanks for bidding after every fifth or sixth bid, especially when there was a little bidding war going on.  Even the Domino’s Pizza across the road was amazingly friendly.  After a jovial message stating the location and specials, I was transferred to a person.

“I was just wondering what time you closed tonight,” I said.  “Well sir, today we are open until 11 pm.”

“Ok thanks, I might call you back.”

“Thank you, sir.  And thanks for calling Domino’s Pizza. And may I say, I hope you have a wonderful New Year!”  Like I said, very friendly town.

Everyone seemed to like that auction house.  We sold most of the items we won within days of the auction.  Their price was accommodating, allowing our price to match.  We will definitely make the journey back to what must be the friendliest auction house in America.  Who knows, if the town in anyway matches the attitude we experienced at the sale, well, me might just have to file it away as a possible place to retire.

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