Don't you just HATE when you drive by a sign for a church rummage sale, make a quick u-turn and get inside only to realize you only have 20 minutes to scour the place? I guess I should have been thankful to find it at all, but the panic that ensues is the equivalent to a junkie looking for their next score - trying to get their fix before they start getting the shakes/chills/shits.
My mom and I were in a shit sty of a town today, one we frequent often but I'd rather not mention, and came across a great rummage sale. It was absolutely huge - 3 large rooms with stuff piled everywhere. Sometimes I wish someone was filming us at the very moment we arrive in a place like that. Our pupils are likely the size of dinner plates, froth spewing from our mouths, hairs standing on end, tripping over shit left and right - all with a constant muttering of things like:
"Oh my God! Look at this! Oh wait, it's cracked."
"Becke! Becke, look! It's an amazing...oh shit, it's all dinged up."
"Come over here, quick! These sell for BIG BUCKS! Well, maybe not. I don't know anymore..."
After several close calls on potentially amazing thriftwares, we managed to sift through a decent amount of the place before we were politely told they were closing, "You can always come back tomorrow", the woman said to us a few times. While we were nearing the door to leave, my mom spotted a great 60s blender so she asked the price. The little lady who was helping us managed to let off the most rancid fart while we were awaiting the verdict we were shaken out of our hysteria and back to the cold, hard realities of our vintage addiction. We bought yet another car full of shit that we had to lug and slug like a pair of wandering gypsies. Well, not all of it was shit - a lot of it was good, at least I say that now, while the catch is still fresh. The cycle of binge/purge/binge/purge continues...
See you at Booth 29!
