Today, there was an auction of the very best kind.
#1: It was the kind of auction that allowed me to sleep in (I do love my 12 hours/night, y’know):
It didn’t start until a very civilized 10:00 am.
#2: It was the kind of auction that was perfectly timed to finish up with all the stuff we were interested in before the rain started:
We were home in time for lunch and a rainy afternoon nap.
#3: It was the kind of auction that was a mere 8 houses down the road:
It seemed like fate and Humphrey Bogart. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, this auction was on our very own, country road.
Really, to ignore it would have been rude.
R.U.D.E., I tell you.
So, we wandered over–um, drove really, because hoofing it 8 houses back, not to mention through 100 acres of their windy lane before we got back to our country road with our auction treasures did not appeal–and settled in for the show.
I oogled the property, which had pastoral rolling landscape and a heritage, brick house. It also had some lovely outbuildings made of antique brick. The property is listed for a cool $899,000, so oogling was far as I was going to get to go with this charmer.
Accordingly, I oogled up a storm, surreptitious-like and trying not to salivate, as you do, even though officially, we’re downsizing soon.
Yep.
The auctioneer stood in front of one of the brick barns, hooked up with a wireless mike, like some kind of rural Ontario Madonna. He stammered in his everyday speech, but, he was flawless in his auctioneer chant-erooning.
I’m sure that’s a technical, auctioneer term, isn’t it?
B’dee, b’dee, b’dee, b’dee, who’ll give me b’dee, b’dee, b’dee $100.00 for this outboard motor, b’dee, b’dee, b’dee. Only needs a pull string and….b’dee, b’dee, b’dee…a motor, b’dee, b’dee, b’dee.
Such a cool way to parlay a speech difficulty into a successful career as a professional chanter-ooner!
I loved his vintage-style straw fedora and cane.
I have lots of hats. Maybe I need a cane for when I’m leading workshops at the university. I could point and gesture like a pro if I had a cane.
B’dee, b’dee, b’dee, b’dee, let’s talk about some resume strategies and interview skills, b’dee, b’dee, b’dee.
Oh yes, I think it could work.
Our auction skills are rusty, having not been to one in a couple of years. This auctioneer was making time, too, so you couldn’t snooze on the job, if you thought you might be a buyer.
No, sirree.
The giant, shiny maple syrup finishing pan that Practical Man had his eye on, went for a good deal but it was ever so lightning fast with the b’dee, b’dee, b’dee, and my maple syrup mogul hesitated.
No hesitating or dithering at this auction. Dithering meant you walked away giant, shiny maple syrup finishing pan forlorn.
Sob.
The only thing I really spotted on our initial walk-around that made my heart skip (other than the $899,000 property itself) was a Fed-Ex/food truck-shaped van (dreams of a mobile cupcake empire danced in my head) and, be still my heart:
a genuine, hang-on-the-kitchen-wall, talk-on-your-party-line, rotary phone.
Tra-la-la.
I usually see them when we’re touring house hovels that we don’t buy. Like the one in Enterprise a couple of years ago. And the one last week, that had the falling off chimney and disintegrating summer kitchen.
They make me want the house hovel–just because of the phone.
I’m sensible like that.
This phone wasn’t avocado green, robins-egg blue or 60s pink (that can be remedied with plastic paint, if I get bored some future Sunday afternoon) but, I figured its ho-hum colour meant the price would be manageable. It was in among the “smalls” that Mr. Auctioneer was going through at break-neck speed.
B’dee, b’dee, b’dee.
Before we knew it, the phone was on the table, waiting for its turn in the limelight.
Before we knew it, it was being offered with a bunch of other stuff that got bundled in, because no one would bid on the stuff on offer, right before my phone.
But, but, but..before we knew it, we were the proud owners of (a smallish box of junk and) a genuine, hang-on-the-kitchen-wall, talk-on-your-party-line, rotary phone!
We went all out at this auction, spending a grand total of $2.00. Since we weren’t buying the $899,000 property, we figured we could splurge a little.
Back at home, we set about cleaning off the barn dust and checking out our purchase. It was like new.
Even better, when we plugged it into a phone jack, there was a dial tone!
Even, EVEN better, Practical Man could call me on it!
That’s not our number, just in case you were wondering.
At first, it didn’t ring with that distinctive, brain-penetrating vintage ring, but when he opened it up, he found a disconnected wire and immediately fixed it, because that is what a Practical Man is best at doing: making my strange dreams come true.
The 40-year old phone then proceeded to ring, like it was 1976 (the year it was made).
BRRRRING!
BRRRRING!
BRRRRING!
Really, it takes so little to amuse me.
Even, even, EVEN better, I channeled my inner tween self (in full disclosure, I was a tween long before the word “tween” was coined), put my index finger in the rotary dial and dialed Practical Man’s number.
Be still my faint-y heart.
Now, you might not get the thrill here. You might be one of those people who have people on speed dial or voice-command, so you only ever have to push one button (or less) on your phone.
I am one of those people who loves to type (I rarely copy and paste, if I can help it) and I love, love, love to DIAL!
I can’t wait to dial the longest phone numbers I can come up with.
Really.
Can I call Australia? Or, darkest Peru?
Someday, I’m pretty sure that there will be a giant auction at our house. They’ll shake their heads and sell off all my vintage doo-dahs and Practical Man’s gizmos and gubbins (those are technical terms).
B’dee, b’dee, b’dee, b’dee.
In the meantime, for the love of all things vintage, please–as Blondie‘s Debby Harry used to sing–CALL ME!
The $2 auction purchase has been installed–where else, but where it belongs–and I can’t wait for our genuine, hang-on-the-kitchen-wall, talk-on-your-party-line, rotary phone to ring.
BRRRRING!
Copyright Christine Fader, 2016. Did you enjoy this post from A Vintage Life? Share on Facebook Tweet
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