THE AUTHORING AUCTIONEER

Forrest Gump explained, “Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you’re going to get.”  Well, that little fortune cookie excerpt also applies to answering the phone at Rebecca’s Auction Gallery.  Every time it rings, I never know what I’m going to get…

The woman that called that blustery March afternoon was extremely hard to understand.  I had to strain my ears.  She was calling to inquire about selling a fur coat, and it sounded as if she was chewing on it.

“How old is the coat?” was my first courageous query.

“Well,” she mumbled, “my daughter got it when she was nine, and the lady that gave it to her had it for a few years before that.”

Well, that answered that.  I, being omniscient as I am, knew exactly how old her daughter is now, and realized my own blunder by even asking the age of the garment.  Being all knowing, there had been no reason to inquire at all, or to even continue asking questions.  However, not wanting to frighten this mere mortal, I decided to pocket my ESP and continue qualifying her in the traditional way.

I asked her how much money she hoped the coat would bring.  When she claimed that she had no idea, I gently told her, “Well, the average fur coat only brings about $25 at auction.  Sometimes I get lucky, and one will bring $75 to $100.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she exclaimed cleary.  Her surprise must have caused her to spit out the coat.  “When I brought it to the dry cleaner,” she continued, “the lady there told me that it’s worth about $2,000.”

“Yes,” I laughed, “an appraisal from a dry cleaner is more valid than an appraisal from someone who actually sells stuff.”

There was a short pause as she put the coat back in her mouth.  Her muffled reply was, “It’s a beautiful coat.”

“Okay, look,” I said.  “There’s a woman down the street from me who runs a very classy clothing consignment shop.  I’ll get you her number.  She’ll most likely be able to help you better than I can.”

“I don’t think so,” the caller spit out the coat again.  “My daughter brought that lady a bunch of jeans that she paid $30 each for, and she only got $8 each when they were sold.”

“Well, how much do you think used clothing is worth?” I barked.  “And $30 is not expensive for a pair of jeans.”  I took a breath.  “Why don’t you call some furriers?” I suggested.  “See how much you’ll get from them?”

After explaining what a furrier is, and that she should open the yellow pages to “fur” in order to find one, I said good-bye and hung up the phone…

Help me, Lieutenant Dan!

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