Tag Archives: Brooklyn

This Was A Bad Day. (Conclusion)

19 Aug

August 19, 2016

For those who came in late:

After the Big Bang, stellar matter whirled and coalesced into the plant we know as Earth. It cooled and life formed. Dinosaurs flourished and died, the human race evolved, and eventually Saarah and I decided to sell some things at a local flea market. This turned out to be a bad idea.

It was hot and the sun beat down on us from not just above but, somehow, from behind as well. No matter what we had for sale, we were offered one dollar. If these same people showed up at Sotheby’s they’d offer a buck for a Fabergé egg. The only thing they’d pay over a dollar for might be ransom, but I doubt it. We sold little, I had my share of misadventures, and ROTNAC took me into his confidence. I still don’t know why. I had the opportunity to buy as many Bobby Darin vinyl LP’s as I wanted and believe it or not, still that didn’t make the day worthwhile.

They only people who had any kind of a good day were two little girls who made a play fort under an empty table. I briefly considered joining their tea party because at least they were in the shade, but a grown man crawling under a table to be with two little girls tends to look bad.

Finally, it was time to pack up. The market was scheduled to close at 4 but by noon tables were beginning to pack up and little by little vendors were going home, so by 2 it was already half empty. There weren’t that many shoppers to begin with, but when people would walk by and see it was half shut down they didn’t bother to come in at all. We decided we’d give it another half hour and depending on sales we’d decide to leave or stay.

Typical flea market customer.

Typical flea market customer.

There were no sales so we left.

We began to pack up and then, of course, people rushed over. “THEY’RE LEAVING? WHOA, they must have already made a fortune! Their stuff must be AWESOME! Let’s go there fast and see what we can get for a dollar!” At least that’s what I think everyone thought since we suddenly had every cheap looky-loo at our table as I packed up. And no, no one bought a thing despite making me dig stuff out of the box I had just packed for them to look at.

Saarah and I brought our things out to the sidewalk and since the car was a couple of blocks away and it was heavy, Saarah waited while I brought the car around.

This is where it all goes wrong.

As Saarah waited, I got the car. The plan was to double park for about one minute while I loaded our stuff in the back and then we’d leave. Simple.

What actually happened is that pretty much everyone else at the flea market had the same idea. (And since they were all leaving the flea market, that made it a flee market. Ha ha, that’s awful.) So when I came down the block and got to Saarah there was a huge traffic jam and no room to stop so I had to go around again. When I came back, the only spot was in front of someone’s driveway and since we were only going to be a minute that was no big deal. Oh, if only….

The driveway was a few houses down from Saarah and I didn’t want to leave it running so I shut the engine while I went for the boxes. Soon the car was loaded, Saarah and I were ready to go, and I started the car and-

I started the car and-

I started the car and-

I didn’t start the car. After three attempts nothing at all happened, not even a wheeze. The battery was totally and completely dead. It could not even power a Clinton’s cold, calculating heart. I had noticed that earlier in the day the car didn’t start right up and the battery seemed weak but I thought that it would recharge with some driving. I guess sitting around in the car letting the air conditioner run while it idled wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Well, so far this wasn’t so bad. All I’d need was a boost, I’d just make a quick call and- HONK.

Huh?

HONK. Yes, it was a car in the driveway I was blocking. The driver had picked the worst possible moment (for me) to want to get out. So Saarah slid into the driver’s seat and I got out and pushed. No biggie, I’ve pushed more than a few cars in my day. I was much younger then but hey, I can do it. So I leaned against the back of the car and pushed and two things happened at once.

1- The car started rolling.
2- I tore a muscle in my left leg.

gastrox

And it hurt like Hell.

I pushed the car across one of the busiest streets in Brooklyn with one leg in the air. See that, younger me? I can push a car across a busy street with one leg tied behind my back. Plus, Saarah had some trouble steering so as I pushed I also– in the busy intersection, with one leg- maneuvered to the driver’s side window and helped steer as I pushed. Yep, that’s some real man stuff right there.

The luckiest thing is that there was a parking spot right on the corner so I only had to push it straight in, no backing up.

To make a long story short, and maybe it’s too late for that, after we got a boost we went to the closest mechanic where I paid $120 for a new battery and thus, counting all the money we failed to make at the flea market, ended the day with a net loss of $120 since we managed to just break even at the flea market.*(SEE “A Note On Breaking Even” at the end of this post.) And a sunburn, since not only did we sit all day in the sun, the mechanic’s waiting area was, conveniently, a small table and a couple of chairs in the sun.

I slept in the next day.

The moral of the story? I’m not sure there is one, except maybe to never get a table at a flea market again.  

——-

* A Note on Breaking Even

At the end of the flea market, we had earned just as much money as we spent for the table, thus we left with the same amount of money we started with. That’s great if you are in Las Vegas and break even after a day at the slot machines. Most people lose more than they can afford. But that sucks if you spent a miserable day in the sun dealing with idiots and cheap morons and go home with nothing to show for it.

 

.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This Was A Bad Day. (Part 2: ROTNAC)

28 Jul

July 28, 2016

Ever wonder what people sell at a small local flea market? Here are some of the highlights of what was for sale at other tables on the day Saarah and I were there.

  • A scruffy old rotary phone with a ripped half of an AT+T sticker on the side
  • A turntable arm. Not the whole turntable, just the arm.
  • Used sneakers. It seemed like every third table was covered in a jumble of old, worn sneakers.
  • Old records. This was probably the most normal thing there, except that when I glanced in one of the boxes, they seemed to be only Bobby Darrin records.
Bobby Darin! SWOON!

Bobby Darin! SWOON!

There were also people selling clothes, makeup, and jewelry, which is exactly what Saarah was selling.

And did you ever wonder who goes to a small local flea market? There’s no real type, unless you count cheap as a type. No matter what you were selling, no matter how much you were selling it for, they offered you a dollar. And if you happened to be selling something for a dollar, they offered you a quarter.

It started out promising. We made our first sale before the market officially opened. We sold a plastic hanger to the woman running the table next to us. Price? One dollar. We were planning to hang some of Saarah’s clothes but it turned out that we had nowhere to hang them so selling the hanger was a no-brainer.

We spent much of the day sweating in the heat or, in my case, dealing with weirdos. Trust me- if you want to haggle with me over a one dollar bracelet, you’re a weirdo. “What’s your return policy?” Seriously? I’m a guy at a folding table, what kind of return policy do they think I have?

But speaking of weirdos, I ran into the King of All Weirdos, ROTNAC.

In brief, this is a ROTNAC:

He is around fifty years old, with a head of thick black hair, now graying, and a thick beard. He is fat and wears shabby clothes. The most remarkable thing about ROTNAC is his headgear. In the winter it is a furry hat. In the summer it is a baseball cap, but what sets them apart is the sign saying “ROTNAC” that he either attaches to or writes on his cap. It is not unusual for him to walk down the street amid a chorus of “Hey Rotnac!” One theory is that ROTNAC, read right to left in the Hebrew style reads as CANTOR, so ROTNAC is a cantor. He does look and dress as though he would fit in a synagogue. He is usually sighted carrying a large, full, plastic bag which contains any number of items, including a very odd, telescoping tennis racket.

That description was from 2010 and there have been some changes since then. He’s dropped most of his extra weight and his hair is almost white.

Santa Rotnac

I still see him rambling around and I still see him with a great many shopping bags at times, but there is one big change. He never wears the ROTNAC card any more. In fact, he looks so different now that there is a chance that this may not be “the” ROTNAC but simply “a” ROTNAC. He’s what I call a “ROTNAC type.” For all I know he’s a part of a vast ROTNAC Legion. Look out for them in your neighborhood. They are usually jovial and talkative.

In fact, this one may have been too talkative. I was taking a break in the shade of a tree just on the other side of the flea market fence. People were walking in and out (most did not make any purchases) and I was just minding my own business. As I was standing there, out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone walking towards me. I turned and it was ROTNAC. All I knew was I wanted nothing more than to avoid any attention, since the last time I interacted with someone there I almost found myself in an episode of Law and Order: SVU. (See part 1.)

So I turned away but ROTNAC was determined to talk to me. He came to my side (as I assiduously looked elsewhere) and said “The Church collects the money but they give it to the Jew.”

“The Church collects the money but they give it to the Jew.”
                                                -ROTNAC

Questions:

  • Why me? Why, why did he pick me?
  • The Jew or a Jew? Was there a Jewish guy running the flea market? Seems unlikely since this was a Korean Church.
  • Was this an anti-Semitic remark? What does this do the theory that ROTNAC is a cantor in a synagogue?

I stood as still as one of those guys guarding Buckingham Palace, just without the big fuzzy hat and showed no reaction whatsoever to this. If ROTNAC thinks I am deaf this is why. He wandered away to, I don’t know, the Lair of ROTNAC, and I, thoroughly confused, wandered back to my table, slowly walking past heaps of out-of-package lightbulbs and piles of soiled doll clothes.

At least I hope they were doll clothes.

TO BE CONCLUDED

 

.

 

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →