36. Guerilla Garage Sailing

That Saturday, with the weather nice, we finally got to partake in one of our  favorite pastimes: garage sailing. There was something of the treasure hunt mixed with haggling that I particularly enjoyed in garage sailing. Thad just liked it for the inexpensive gewgaws he could purchase, but I went into it as sport.

There was nothing more exhilarating than talking an old man down by half to get a 1920’s silver pitcher for $3. Or to pay an old lady a quarter for a ‘plastic figurine’  that was actually an 1880’s ivory netsuke. Or better yet, the church junk sale which had a 1910 Duncan Phyfe end table for $10 because none of the Bible banging Baptists had ever looked away from the Lord long enough to take an art history class. Now, that was my form of entertainment.

I had slept poorly again, still awaiting my test results, but took advantage of the early morning to map out our garage sailing destinations and plan the day. The highlight was that tonight was going to be our first night together since Thad had moved out, and I was so looking forward to that. I had missed him and longed to have him back.    

Thad had said I could pick him up no earlier than 10 AM, so at 10 AM on the dot I sat outside Queen Acres with the truck running. I texted “I’m here.” And after five minutes I called, and then had to call again, and then up to knock on the door before he answered, half asleep, looking a mess.

“Hey, sorry. I just got up. Bettina had people over till late.” He blocked the door with his body. I could still see beer cans and wine glasses littered the coffee table over his shoulder, and the place stank of smoke.  My paranoia went into hyper drive. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he rubbed his face, “Can you give me 10 minutes and come back?” 

I eyed him suspiciously, wondering if he needed time to sneak some trick out, but forbade myself from saying that out loud. What I did say, though, was “Are you drinking again?”

“No,” he snorted. “Look, everything is fine. She just had Bayne and his band guys over after their show. I stayed up some but then just went to bed.”

“And you didn’t drink?”

“No, Michael, I didn’t.” He tone changed, now he was pissed, but at least I could tell he was telling the truth: When he lied he always sounded guilty, never pissed.

“Okay,” I breathed a sigh of relief, believing him. “I’ll go get us cokes and come back.”

“Cool,” he smiled a sleepy smile.

As I drove off, content that he was telling the truth, the OCD began to nudge me into doubt, telling me I was playing the fool. But I pushed it away; the day was too young and full of hope to slay it already. 

Twenty minutes later we were out garage sailing, with 7-11 Big Gulps. He had rebounded remarkably and was chipper and chatty. We listened to a Lady Gaga CD in preparation for our Monday trip to Tulsa.

“Okay, where next?” I asked. On these outing, I always drove and he played navigator, as Thad liked to be driven.  

“Past Campus Corner, near Berry and Boyd, on Leslie Lane…” he read from the map I had made.

“Wait, what are you wearing?” he said taking off his sunglasses to stare at me for the first time that day.

I was in camouflage pants, an American flag shirt, and a red, white, and blue bandanna around my head.    

“I’m dressed as a U.S. veteran,” I said proudly.  

“Why?” he asked with his head in his hands.

“Who haggles with a veteran? Especially now that we’re in three wars?”

“You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not. I’m determined.”

He laughed, “I can’t believe you do this for junk. How many veterans do you know who want formal china?”

“Well, this one does, and I will limp if I have to. If I see Haviland or Limoges, I will limp it up crazy-and who’s going to deny a wounded American veteran a deal on some old dishes he wants for his grandmother?” I laughed conspiratorially.  

“You’re going to Hell.”

“Yes, but at least I’ll have the right china when I get there.”  

There were four cardinal laws we followed while garage sailing.

#1: Do not dress fancy. If you dress fancy you get charged fancy prices-no name brand shirts, no fancy sunglasses, and certainly no watch-as the poor do not wear watches, as where do they have to be, really?  Thad had a problem with this, always appearing like he just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad or an Ibiza dance club, so I made him stay on the other side of the sale from me and pretend he didn’t know me.   

#2 Never, under any circumstances let them know you were gay. Why? Because then they knew you had good tastes and had lots of disposable income, and would never cut you a deal. I knew how to act straight, but had to constantly remind Thad to keep his arms and voice down, for fear he would give us away. But he could never keep his strobe light under a bushel for long.   

#3: Never let on you know what brand something is, as if they know that you know it’s a Biedermeier chair and not just ‘some old chair,’ you will never get a deal on it. Thad used to walk in and say “Do you have any Blue Willow? I just love Blue Willow!” and if they did, you know they over charged the hell out of him for his brazenness. Now, simply by pretending you have no idea what it is, you can skirt old ladies of lovely antiques for just pennies on the dollar.

#4 Do not make idle conversation with the vendors, as you could accidentially  give away your hand. Thad was the worst at this as he had an almost Tourettes-like compulsion to talk-up any stranger within three feet of him. Over the years, many a good sale had been lost to Thad’s blathering mouth. “Oh, my partner Michael over there would just love that old Meissen piece you have there. Oh, Michael! Yoo-hoo! Michael!” to prove that he could break all four cardinal laws of garage sailing in just one really gay sentence. 

There were certain exceptions to these rules, but I was always the one who got to make that call, never Thad, as he was too liberal. At one mid-morning sale we were at that day I had decided I was not going to buy anything, so I had nothing to lose by opening my mouth.

“This is a nice platter.” I held up a porcelain platter with a gravy well. It was priced $5, which it was clearly worth, but I did not want it already having two at home I never used.

“It was my Aunt’s Shelby’s. She lived in Connecticut.”  The old lady smiled. “I’m not quite sure what she used it for.”   

Thad walked over and I gave him that ‘It’s okay to talk now-I’m not buying anything’ look. He nodded in agreement, like we were spies.   

I turned the platter towards her. “It would have been used for something with a sauce. See, here is the gravy well where the liquid would pool and then you could serve from it.”

‘Well, my goodness,” the lady said adjusting her glasses. “I had no idea. I should’ve been using it for that! You are a con-a-mon-sewer.”

Realizing she had just grievous mispronounced connoisseur, but not wanting to embarrass her, I smiled, put the platter down and said, “Why thank you Ma’am. You have a nice day.”

As we walked off Thad whispered, “What did she say?”

“I’ll tell you in the truck,”  I whispered back.

After a fast food lunch we hit a few more sales, ending up at an estate sale in the fancy part of town where they had a cash register and appraisers who knew the value of everything: guile would get me almost nowhere.  Thad had returned to the car, and I about ready to give up when I came across a Wedgwood jasperware tobacco pot marked $10. It was a lovely piece and would absolutely compliment my collection, but it had to be mismarked. Even at estate sale prices, it was clearly worth much more. But not one to question pricing in my favor, I grabbed it and walked right up to the check-out table.
          A middle-aged lady in glasses greeted me, “Well what do you have there?

I handed it to her, trying not to be too careful, “It’s a blue pot for my Maw,” I said in my most heterosexual grunt.

“Oh my, well isn’t that pretty? She’s fortune to have such a thoughtful son.” She began to look it over until she found the price tag. “Well, isn’t this cheap!” She glared up at me with small, sharp eyes, and I felt the air leave the room. “Was this the original price on it?”

“Yeah,” I looked away, trying to look crippled, trying to look American and crippled.

“And where was it?” she asked pointedly. The old marm clearly thought I changed the tag! The nerve!   

“Over there.” I pointed like a straight man, with no flair.  

She eyed the far table, looked back up at me, and then after what seemed like an eternity said, “Okay. We’ll it’s clearly mislabeled, but fine.” And began writing up the ticket.

I tried not to giggle, so thrilled to get such a deal on such a collectable-not just the best deal today, but the best garage sale deal so far this spring! And it would be the most stunning piece of Wedgwood I had found so far.

“Do you collect china?” She asked sharply, her pen stopping as she looked back up at me. She had mean eyes.  

“No,” I lied. “I just thought it was pretty.” I tried to sound as much like Lennie from Of Mice and Men as I could. “for my Maw.”  

She looked back down, “It’s Wedgwood Jasperware. It’s a very nice piece, with no cracks. It’s very nice china, probably from the 1920’s.

“Really? Huh? ” I tried to sound common, as common as possible. 

“The acanthus leaves skirt,” she continued, “and the Greco-Roman figures on it are also very nice. Very collectible. You’re getting a steal on this.” She stopped writing and looked back up at me, taking her glasses off, “But you know that, don’t you?”

Damn! Cover blown! I had met my garage sailing match! But as I didn’t have the piece in hand yet I had to stay in character!

“No… No,” I said, and tried to look even more American and even more crippled.

She studied me for a minute before she looked back down and finished writing up the ticket. “That’ll be $10.80.”

I paid cash and could not get my hands on the little porcelain piece fast enough. But as I left, I myself stay in character, slightly dragging my left leg, in case I ran into her at another sale in the future; the town wasn't that big and I didn't want my racket spoilt.  

As I limped up to the car Thad stomped out a cigarette. “Oh, for god’s sake! What did you get Born on the 4^th of July? The grail?”

I just giggled and jumped in the truck, “I lost it in the war, you know.”