Some flea market tools: restoration and discussion

The more traditional perspective of flea culture and commerce is one of skepticism and mistrust. Admittedly, swap stops are most often found in seedy-looking dives. Just to describe a handful that I've frequented: 1) one was/is an old cinema multiplex, where each theater room houses endless stepped aisles of junk. 2) Another was in the major department store section of an abandoned shopping mall—which was in such poor shape that every tenth vendor was forced to make use of a roof-leak bucket. 3) And of course, closest to my old house, there is the infamous indoor/outdoor flea market along the highway, which occupies the space of what was once apparently some sort of car dealership. Here, before the fancy new Tiki food hut, the smell of hot-dog filled the air, some of which used to be served by a WWII aged man with a stainless claw in place of his hand. His biggest competitor was thirty feet away: Sterno-warmed meat from steel pans was being served by an extremely obese woman and her tiny man partner. Ten feet from their foodstuffs was an equally large female vendor (at least selling non-perishables), paying keen attention to her exchanges as her pet rat moved freely between sitting on either of her considerably sized shoulders, at least until the implementation of the 'service pets only' policy. Nevertheless, you can still expect to waft the occasional dog odor. Addition after shoddy addition has turned the market into a shantytown of over-evaluated wares, where the ignorant and semi-literate busily equate obsolescence with antiquity every weekend. 4) Another 'flea mart Sat-Sun' was on the parking lot of an old drive-in theater. 5) And the newest (to me) place that I've found to flea is far and away the best; after the spring begins, it boasts over twenty acres of flat field to support its tables, and it still manages to maintain a healthy idle through the winter inside of its large, well-lit greenhouse.

Mistrust? I don't feel that way any more. Maybe that's a result of growing up, and finally becoming an equal in the eyes of all of those weirdos. Kids are frowned upon as they handle rusty trinkets and treasures with their empty pockets and careless grips. But adults handle things only when in a state of serious consideration of some kind, and so the regard for you changes as you age. Strange thing about this relationship though: while most of our non-kin interactions are based upon a competition of some type, this doesn't seem to thrive at the flea market. From a game theoretical perspective, it's because Tit-For-Tat is the most viable economic strategy to use in this environment. In a sense, it is the last refuge of the free market, where honesty still reigns, and relationships that are predicated upon a one-time quick advantage lack any long-term sustainability. Thus, the customer and the vendor become something like, but not quite, a friendship. That's still better than indifference. Especially in a world that lacks compassion and understanding, it helps to remember that not everything out there is a zero-sum game to be won.

Wait, hold on. The cynic in me won't let you leave on such an optimistic note. Some vendors are still obstinate and awful. I was having a great day last time—until I met this guy at the very end. While reading the following, please consider the saturation of the axe market here: there were at least two dozen tables with axes for less than $10, and rarely was a gem marked over $15, unless it was a name brand, pristine, or a genuine antique. He was a really grumpy, conservative-looking old man wearing a tall and perpendicular MAGA hat. On his table rested a 4.5 lb axe (like MATT) that was hung upside-down on a short handle that was already split. Carefully, I lift to inspect:
“That's twenny!” He snapped.
“No, I can't do that. Sorry, but the handle is bad,” I replied.
“That's what it is,” He refused.
“Well, I can do ten. It's heavy, and I like that,” and I gave him a smile.
“Put it back!” With a mild yell, as though I'd offended him.
“Okay. Good luck today.”
“MmmMm.”

At this point, I turned instead to face Mrs. pocket, who was smiling at this, and I quietly mouthed to her while laughing, “What a fucking asshole—O-M-G,”
But I would've paid $15.

Видео Some flea market tools: restoration and discussion канала pocket83²