The Auction

Trey has an auction addiction and I have an antique addiction. When I found out there was an antique auction in Sunday, neither of us could pass up the visit! The thing about this auction was that it was in Moundville - which is in the land of no cell phone signal - a.k.a. Middle of No Where. It was a lot of fun, though, and some of the items went for cheap; much to the chagrin of the man who was selling the estates.

We headed out of the house about thirty minutes before it started. Moundville is about twenty minutes south on Hwy 69. Once you are in Hale County, you pass the Hale County High School (original) and turn right at the one and only traffic/caution light. Once you follow the two lane road less than a mile, you'll enter into a very small town.

There is a small restaurant where everybody goes to eat regularly. It's called Ms. Melissa's. I haven't eaten there myself, but I hear it's delicious. Directly across the street from the diner is another two lane road lined with old, brick building's on either side. All of the buildings look like a giant piece of sandpaper ran across them at some point. All of the windows are covered with sheets or signs. It looks desolate. If you were to visit at night, I doubt you'd think anything was ever open. Not one of the buildings had a business sign in the front and all looked like they were teasing with condemnation.

"Where is this auction? Doesn't look like anything is here," I wondered if my husband would be more familiar with this than myself. I had just heard of this place through word of mouth and had no clue what we were getting into.

"Just go in those doors right there," He pointed to the small strip of buildings that sat adjacent to Ms. Melissa's. It was a white store front with sheets in the front. The display windows were line with what looked like bed sheets and had bikes, chairs and all sorts of random objects clumsily strewn in view. It had two glass front doors on either sides of the main display window that allowed the only glimpse of anything inside. "That's where everybody else is going."

I looked around and realized there were other vehicles but I couldn't find any persons to occupy those vehicles. "None of the buildings look open. Which one are they going in? Where is everybody to follow?"

Trey put me in view of the white store front. "Oh," I said, thinking I wasn't stupid for thinking this place was closed, along with everything else in the small corner. We walked inside to rows of metal chairs. Spaced somewhat evenly between were small pillows and cushions to site on. They looked like the pillows that sat on your grandmother's sofa. Some were decorated in white lace, others wore a crocheted brown and orange cover. In the end, I was glad to see them; the seats were cold and hard.

People were standing around the place, picking up some of the smaller trinkets and touching the larger wooden pieces of furniture. There were kitchen tables in the mix, throwing memories of hours spent around a kitchen table laughing and talking, crying and rejoicing in my head. I wondered how many hours families had spent around the tables now about to be auctioned.

The small crowd gathered in their seats and the auctioned started. Then the scene became a Southern Norman Rockwell painting. The auctioneer picked up a microphone and began describing some of the lots. I got tickled thinking of the heavy southern accent on a microphone for the maybe twenty people in the room. He had on a glasses and a pullover and was wearing a ball cap. He sat on a stool the entire time he called for bids. Twice he stood up but he made sure to let us know he was about to take a stand! Meanwhile, the seller, a man who looked like a mix Colonel Sanders and Santa Clause, paced back and forth infront of the buyers, "Put dis with'it!" and, "That's cheap! Ah might'noh sell it!"

We, as Southerners, get stereotyped for our accents and education thanks to those nice people on cable news who find the person who can say, "Eh'sounded lak a frate tren," the best when a tornado comes through. Let me just say Thank God they haven't been to Moundville because there are a plethora of people to fit that stigma there!

Here are some examples:
• "Pewter" is pronounced "Peter"
• "Open Bid" is "How much ya'll wanna start the biddin' fer?"
• "Vase" is not a vase, it's "This glass pitcher, real pretty!"
• "For Sale" is pronounced "Fer Sale"
• "Stained Glass" is "Winders"

I'm born and raised in Alabama, I'm proud of it. I was educated Sunday.

Then Santa got pissed. Furniture wasn't bringing what he thought it was worth, "winders" weren't going for what he paid. Santa rubbed his hands on his red pullover and paced faster in front of the buyers. "Haven't ya'll ever herd of spray paint?! You can paint this stuff! Ah don'know why Ah even try - Not Sold! Not Sold!" When a dresser came up for sale and only brought $20, Santa screamed, "Don'you folks know how t'disstress paint - putsum sandpaper on it? Not Sold!! Ya'll newcomers comin'in here not ev'n biddin' like Ah do this for mah health!"
I thought, "Surely he's not talking about us! He can't expect us to bid on EVERYTHING - His 'antique' glass is a fake, anyway!"

He had this beautiful blue and white plate and pitcher. Thing was, he called it Blue Willow. I know my Blue Willow. There was no badge on the bottom. It wasn't Blue Willow. Plus, it was the wrong shade of blue. It wasn't Blue Willow. When he called the second piece Blue Willow, too, I lost all respect. None of his stuff was going to be worth what he thought it should be, in my opinion any way. To me, he apparantly was bullshitting his way through all of the pieces and had no idea what had value and what didn't!

In the end, they began asking people to start a bid on any other items not listed to be sold. Trey and I had attempted for the lamp we wanted, but they never called our bid out - we weren't about to open the floor on a piece of furniture we'd eyed in hopes it wouldn't go for more than what we wanted to pay and the hope that he'd still sell it to us.

There is another auction coming up in a month. We'll probably check at the auction one more time. The items he did sale went for next to nothing. Plus, you'll never know what kind of lagniappe you'll get with it! Santa's always throwing in something extra!