Paul and I headed out early for the Anderson Jockey Lot. I think it’s been about a year since Paul, John, and I venture forth to this unusual place. It takes me about that long to recover from the experience and for amnesia to set in.
Paul and his father hit the Florida flea market trail quite a bit as he was growing up, so he had a strategy. Our plan was to wander through the outside tables, and hit the interior only if time allowed. We were looking for the individuals trying to sell off a few things, not the de facto vendors. We were a bit late for a Saturday morning, and the crowds had already gathered.
I armed myself with my Nikon DSLR, thinking that there would be some great shots. I was right about the potential for photography, but wrong about the appropriateness of carrying a large camera into the fray. (See comment from another photographer.) The suspicious glances stolen at my camera were enough to tell me that that these folks wanted neither photos of themselves nor their goods. They don’t want you to take pictures of their stuff, they want you to buy it.
I took probably five shots with the DSLR. I did find that it served as a nice distraction, though, for using my smaller cameras. I just couldn’t get the focused shots I wanted. As it turned out, I wished that I had taken a good audio recorder rather than a camera. The dialects and quotes were classic.
You know, that Coleman Fuel makes its own water if it stays in that tank too long.
This, of course, struck Paul the chemistry professor as quite funny. Despite a somewhat rusty fuel tank, he purchased the antique Colman two-burner camp stove for under $10. I hope it works.
As one might expect there was a ton of NASCAR merchandise. Paul commented that there appeared to be no end to the variety of goods one could obtain emblazoned with a black number 3.
Paul: I wonder what a Jimmie Johnson scented candle smells like.
Me: Gotta be better than a Dale Earnhardt scented candle. I don’t image he smells too good right now.
It never ceases to amaze me what merchandise folks think might be valuable. There were collectables, antiques, salvage merchandise, and downright junk. I imagine some of these folks do OK with their sales, especially the ones that have set up semi-permanent shops. Some, however, seem just a tad on the desperate side. Most are on the verge of scary.
I managed to get by only spending $5.50 for a couple of caps and some socks. As we left, I was only slightly comforted by the large sign that read, "All state and federal laws strictly enforced."