THE AUTHORING AUCTIONEER

As my father has gotten older, that particular area of his temper that kicks into action when confronted by a dumb ass has changed from angry finger pointing and thundering, harsh words to a quiet, sarcastic, kind of amused grace.  Indeed, rather than shouting at the every day idiot (known scientifically as homo-idius abiectus), Dad offers them a facetious smile, one in which his lips press tightly together and his cheeks puff out a bit from the over-exaggeration of the expression.  Of course, when face to face with the most dangerous of the species (homo-idius summus), Dad can still pull out the big guns and growl like a proper Italian.

There is a variation of the species that falls between the common idiot and the ultimate idiot.  When dealing with homo-idius medius, Dad’s response can go either way.  This past Thurday, April 24, he was faced with one such fool, one that was neither commonplace nor the worst kind.  We, the staff and clients, watched with anticipation to see which way it would go…

The aforementioned Thursday was the first half of a two-day auction that we had advertised on AuctionZIP.  Both listings and their associated photo galleries were quite clear.  On Thursday, we were selling boxlots, tools, guitars, and jewelry.  On Friday, we were offering all the antiques, furniture, art, and collectibles.  There was no possibility of confusion, or so we had thought…

Several hours before the Thursday auction began, my father gave directions over the telephone to a woman (we’ll call her Vexa), who claimed that she was coming to the sale from New York City.  Upon registering, her identification showed that she was from Virginia.  She may have come to Olyphant from Virginia via NYC.  The details of it are moot.  Either way, she drove many miles and hours to attend our auction.

We sold the boxlots first, then the tools and guitars, and ended the sale with the jewelry.  Vexa stood through it all, bid on and won several lots.  Upon the sale of the last jewelry lot, my father–who had been calling–extended everyone a hope for a good evening and a see-you-tomorrow.  The sale was over until Friday, the next day, when the rest of the inventory would be sold, as advertised.

This is when Vexa went into her tirade.  Her foolish ramblings were so numerous and incomprehensible that it’s impossible to quote them exactly.  So, I will list the ridiculous points of her arguement as best I can:

1. Vexa was angry that the sale was over.  She wanted to bid on the antiques, furniture, etc. a full day before they were supposed to be offered.  She apparently felt that because she had driven such a long distance, that we should have started Friday’s auction a full 24 hours early.
2. She claimed that she had never been to an auction that had ended when there was still merchandise to sell.  (Of course, there was no more merchandise to sell.  All that had been advertised for that Thursday auction had been placed on the block and knocked down.)
3. It seems that starting the auction with the boxlots had offended her.  Another claim that she made was that she had never been to an auction that commenced with boxlots.  Okay…?
4. The overall theme of her rambling was predicated on the fact that she was the authority on how the auction should have been conducted and that by doing it another way we had screwed her and ruined her life.

My father’s initial response to Vexa’s moronic monologue was disbelief and to tell her that it was clearly advertised as to what merchandise we were selling on what day.  Vexa should have already known this.  She had discovered our auction on AuctionZIP where, I reiterate, the sale listings were perfectly clear.

Nothing could halt the mouth of Vexa.  She was relentless in her clucking and bitching.  We all watched Dad, holding our breath to see which way it would go…  Would Dad boom the directions to the nearest entrance to Hell or would he fall back, realizing that any ammunition flung at this dumb ass would just be a waste.

Vexa continued to flap her lips as Dad headed for the office.  He turned in the doorway, took one last look at her, and deployed his facetious smile with that quiet, sarcastic, kind of amused grace.  And much like Michael closed the office door on Kay, Dad closed the office door on Vexa and ate a hot dog.

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