I didn't get to tell this story last night, so I'm getting it out of my system by posting it here. The theme was "Working Stiffs", and it was won by an amazing story from a performer who had been with Blue Man Group for eight years in New York.
I call this story "Family Silver".
From 2004 to July 2008 I managed an eBay store. Yes, just like the one in "40 Year-Old Virgin" that Katherine Keener ran. People brought stuff in, we sold it on eBay, and they got a check for about half what it sold for.
I would open the store at 10AM, and one of my great pleasures was getting there on my bicycle at 9:30AM, and having a blissful half hour in the cool, dim, quiet store. I would have my Peet's coffee, answer emails, print shipping labels and get the store ready to open. Then, at ten sharp, I would unlock the door and put on my Customer Service Face - friendly, yet authoritative and dignified.
One hot September morning, I ride up and am annoyed to see people standing, waiting in front of the locked door. It was an elderly couple, maybe in their late 70s, early 80s, carrying shopping bags, and clearly thrilled to see me.
Normally, I'd just point at the sign on the door that says in 72-point type that we open at ten. But it was hot, and they were old, and they reminded me of my parents, so I decided to let them in.
Like a lot of older people, the whole concept of the store excited them. They heard crazy stories on Leno about tchotchkes that sold for a fortune, and thought, "wow! I have a lot of stuff too!"
So I ask How can I help you, and he reaches into a bag and pulls out some records. LP records. Vinyl. Not, mind you, the rare German pressing of Meet the Beatles. These were A Sinatra Christmas, Herb Alpert's Whipped Cream and Other Delights, and Switched-on Bach. Triple Platinums. Sold billions of copies. And these particular copies were scratched and scuffed, with torn sleeves. They wouldn't sell for a quarter apiece at a yard sale.
"Um," I start out. He interrupts me, "Some collector is going to love these!"
"Well, sure," I say. "The thing is, we can't sell these because they won't go for enough."
"Oh, we don't care what they sell for!" they say.
I tell them that they might not, but we do. We can't sell things that we don't think will go for at least fifty dollars. After all, we take time to take pictures, write descriptions, answer questions... We need to make some money.
The "we need to make money" argument always works with middle-aged (and up) white men. They nod and frown and purse their lips, "of course, I understand - have to make a profit!" Then he rolls his eyes toward his wife, as if to tell me that he didn't want to bring these lame records here, it was all his wife's idea. Women! Just don't understand business like us men!
So the records go away, and the missus, with some panache pulls out a mink stole. This was a little brown piece that had clearly been sitting in their closet since 1974. It had fraying on the edges, some bald spots... Not a great fur, and they had not invested in cold storage or reglazing.
But I knew the story of that fur. I remember from my parents, who would be about this couple's age. When my father made a big sale, he would buy my mother a fur. There would be an elaborate presentation ceremony with a Henry Bendel bag, and she would be all excited, wondering what was in it. Then my father would pull the fur out of the bag, and my mother would gasp and shriek, and put it on, and twirl like a model (which she actually had been). Then she would fall into his arms, and they would kiss, and say they loved each other. And my sister and I would know that we were safe, and loved, and prosperous, and everything would be okay.
So I'm looking at this couple's ratty little fur, my eyes damp. I don't want to tell them that it might sell for fifteen dollars, just to get cut up to trim some teenager's $250 designer jeans.
So I say, "You know, PETA." They're confused. "People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals," I explain. "Furs just don't go for enough these days. They're out of fashion. Red paint..."
"Ohhh, right." They frown, they nod, they understand. Those damn PETA nuts!
"It just wouldn't sell for enough right now. Maybe next year fur will be back in fashion. But now..."
So, getting the picture, they put the fur back in the bag. But they exchange a glance meaning, "wait 'til he sees this!"
Then they look at me with that expectant look of an uncle giving a present to a favorite niece. Just waiting for me to light up with joy and throw my arms around their neck.
They bring out a silver tea tray.
I had sold a lot of silver. You look for the "STERLING" mark, or "925" or "800" (which denotes European Sterling). Then you weigh the item and you cal tell people what the minimum value, the "melt-down" value could be. And there are silver bugs out there who hoard the stuff. I guess they figure when society collapses, they can trade it for penicillin or clean water or guns or something.
So I examine the markings on the bottom, and what I find is "EPNS", which stands for ElectroPlated Nickel Silver. It's silver plate. Worth maybe ten dollars. Minus the shipping.
I turn it over and look at the top. It's a common design, with lots of scrolls and curlicues. And I can tell that she has polished this every week since she was a girl - there's silver polish jammed into the crevices of the design. Some parts have been rubbed so hard for so long that the plate is actually worn off and you can see the copper-colored metal underneath.
So I ask her where she got this, and she tells me it's from her mother.
All I can come up with is, "You want to sell this? Your mother's tea tray?"
This takes them aback. Well, sure!
I ask them, "Don't your kids want it?" And they say, no. Their kids think it's old fashioned, and who uses trays anyway.
I ask if they have grandkids. They tell me yes, little kids.
I tell them them that if they sell this, if they auction this off on eBay, whatever they get for it, it won't be worth it. Their grandkids are going to want it, and they'll be very upset if they find out that their great-grandma's silver tea tray was sold on eBay for... however much.
My couple was impressed by this argument. They put the tray back in the bag, and shook my hand, and thanked me.
I just hope their grandchildren want the damn thing.
