Thoughts, but no pen or paper. Ah yes, the pen was stuck above my ear, ready to record all the junk I paid excessively for. (You know the aphorism: One man's trash is another man's treasure.) The paper? Well, I was so busy writing down a list of my "treasures" that I hardly had space to write down these awesome thoughts about auctions.
Just as long as I am not guilty of "trash-talking" I should get through this column...
Auctions are a great time to re-connect with people you haven't seen for a while. There were clusters of men everywhere, with only a few actually paying attention to the loudmouth, er, loudspeaker, blaring the bargains and beckoning the buyers. At this time of year, farmers meet up with each other to swap stories, tips, and warnings – and maybe even the occasional exaggeration - about what they have and haven't done so far. Retirees meet up with each other, enjoying the change of scenery, change of coffee, and change of games. People like me – neither a farmer nor a retiree – simply like to show up to get a deal on something they may never use.
Somewhere in that mix of men I believe there are actually people serious about buying something for (next-to) nothing.
I would say there were approximately 99% males there today, with a few women scattered here and there. I also think there were about four kids present. Why they weren't in school, I have no idea. Maybe the auction was part of their Economics 10 class. Hardly any better place to see free enterprise flourish. Or at least gasp.
It is really hard to stereotype a typical "auctionaholic" (my word). (However, that certainly has never stopped me before.) They seem to come from every strata of life. They are old and young, heavy and trim, focused and oblivious, well-dressed and, well, sort of dressed.
The mood is definitely upbeat and casual. There seems to be an air of devil-may-care, of determined enjoyment. I enjoyed my five hours, roaming from lot to lot, bumping into a variety of friends that I have connections with, through my web of relationships. I had more than one person give me a second look, then come over, and greet me like I was one of their own (which I am). They hadn't actually seen me in jeans, hoodie, baseball cap before (standard auction ware [or wear?]). I must confess I did the same: They weren't in their pick-up, so how could tell who they were?
I just had to be careful not to gesture when talking to these guys, or else I would have bought a pump.
Auctions are so Canadian because they are so unpretentious, so transitional. Unpretentious carries with it the thought of no airs, no pretending; transitional is the idea of passing from one state or place to another, from one generation to the next. I think, in a fairly academic way, that is what being a Canadian includes. (Notice I said "includes,"; I didn't say "is all about." There is more than the metaphor of an auction to express the true Canada-esque spirit.
Maybe the writer of our national anthem had auctions in mind when he stated the following words: "...God keep our land, glorious and free." Good: keep our land for more auctions. There is nothing quite as "glorious" as an auction in southern Alberta; and if anything comes "free" or close enough to appear so, so much the better.
Now if Schlenker's could just bring back that "glorious free" breakfast...
No comments:
Post a Comment