When Estate Sales Turn Ugly

I know I'm probably alone in this, but I don't like awkward interpersonal situations. 

Yesterday I went to an estate sale that had an irritating element of interpersonal awkwardness, coupled with a disappointing missed opportunity. 

Let me warn you in advance that this is a stupid story about a minor misfortune at an estate sale.  I am not implying that this is the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone.  It's meant as one of those light-hearted, silly posts. 

So, the estate sale started yesterday at 11.  I rushed from the gym to get there right on the stroke of 11, but apparently I should have aimed for 10:45.  A man made a beeline for the only Fiestaware they had.  It was an adorable little collection of the pastel colors.  It would have been perfect for Easter meals.  And, again, if the inability to get (more) plates for one dumb holiday meal of the year is the worst problem you have, you need to stop whining and shut your trap. 

But, what I hated was, all the plates were kept in this tiny closet-like pantry, so this one man was basically blocking entry to the entire area.  I am not implying that he had any kind of evil intent to form a human barricade or anything like that.  But what was very awkward was, I had to stand there, watching him fumble through the small collection of Fiestaware for a good 5 minutes, while he complained that he didn't know how he was going to be able to carry it all.

I seriously didn't realize that collecting could be this emotional and dramatic.  I left in a bit of a pout, not even interested in looking at the rest of the sale. 

You hear collectors talk about "the thrill of the hunt," but I guess I just never really thought about the ridiculous highs and lows that can come from attempting a big score.  

Like seriously, have you ever watched these shows where people collect cookie jars or salt shakers or whatever?  They are always on such a high when they go to the flea market at 4 a.m. and score that one rare piece.  Conversely, you have to assume there is a major letdown when they fail to make that score, although those disappointments aren't often shown on TV.  (Also I think that any disappointment is multiplied exponentially when it involves going somewhere at 4 a.m.)

The whole collecting thing is sort of a strange psychological phenomenon.  I'm not talking about extreme hoarding here (for a change), I'm talking about the whole range of emotions people can experience in conjunction with something completely pointless.  I mean, it's not like the man at the estate sale snatched the last loaf of bread right in front of me and my starving family.  I have enough of every life necessity like food, and, truth be told, enough plates to serve that food on.  But still, I went home and pouted for about half an hour about that stupid Fiestaware situation, rendered completely unable to move on and perform any other tasks.  I should empty the dishwasher, I thought.  But noooo, because then I'd have to face all my old dishes, and think about how pretty those estate sale dishes would have looked among my collection.  

I maybe need to get out more.

But my point wasn't to talk all about my horrible misfortune at the estate sale.   My point was to say that I'm not cut out for the world of collectors, which is a problem because for the first time in my life I've become interested in collecting all kinds of things.

(This is how the hoarders got started, too.)

The thing is, I've never been much of a collector of anything.  As a kid I had the requisite sticker collection and shell collection, but it's not like I was always on the hunt for that one coveted holy grail item.  And I've always had a bit of a collection of cat-related items, but I've always seen those as decor (don't worry, I keep it minimal and tasteful), or else I try to limit my cat possessions to practical items like note pads. 

And sure I have the collection of dishes, but, again, practical. 

But now, all of the sudden I have this urge to start collecting stuff.  Is this what happens as you get older?  Oh my gosh, am I starting menopause? 

Actually, though, I know the source of my new-found interest in collecting, and she's the source for a lot of my out-of-character domestic endeavors:

Martha Stewart.

See, every month, Martha Stewart Living magazine features an article about somebody's collection of something.  Egg cups!  Antique potholders!  And this month: sour cream jars. 

Apparently in the 1950s, sour cream companies began selling their products in decorative collectible jars.  They have flowers and other pretty patterns.  I want them. 

Oh, and this month's Living was a double-whammy, because there was also this super interesting article on antique baking pamphlets.  I want some of them too. 

Dammit, Martha.  Forget the whole insider trading thing, your real crime was getting me hooked on collecting unnecessary stuff. 

With the sour cream jars, and the egg cups, and the pamphlets, dishes, and glassware, I'm well on my way to becoming that crazy old lady with a bunch of clutter that her relatives are going to have to dispose of after she dies. 

And here I thought my biggest fear for old age was the possibility of becoming the Crazy Cat Lady.  Now I'm also going to have to worry about having a bunch of pointless knick-knacks.  Oh, and there's the fear of having a crop of chin hair that nobody will pluck.  

Old Lady Shannon will achieve the trifecta.