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Finding a prize at local flea market

Lorin Ditzler '06

Saturday morning, 7:50 am, Grinnell Veteran's Building: The first vendors arrive to set up shop, straining to hide their irritation when they find me camped outside the darkened building. Their ruinous efforts have been in vain. I am here.

Surrounded by flashy advertisements for the Brooklyn Fire Department Fish Fry and upcoming PAW cat show, the Penny Saver's announcement of the monthly flea market was suspiciously small, perhaps in a failed attempt to conceal it from my unfailingly thrifty consumerist gaze. And yet I can not be escaped.

Slowly they unpack their hoards ? Used door hinges (4 for $6), giant lockets featuring scenes of 17th century peasant debauchery, towels sewn in the shape of an elegant dress, half of a best friend necklace (poignantly reading just ?-st ?end'), every Menudo record ever made ($4 for the set) ? I scour the room, searching for my prize. And then?.then?.

I see her. Yes, of course she is here. Insatiable in their rudimentary sabotage, the panicked vendors have no doubt called for reinforcement. My whole body tenses at the presence of these two feminine aging bodies morphed into one formidable opponent.

The unsuspecting crowd sees only Vivienne and Beverly: Hardee's undefeated Wednesday morning Bingo champs. Only I who know the true nature of?Viverly.

Suddenly I see what they are protecting so desperately. I bound across the room, just missing the $100 life-sized palm tree lamp.

Viverly stands innocently over the corner table, feigning bewildered amusement at the priceless artifact that lies before her. It is a find most flea market enthusiasts can only dream of: the lower right mandible of a Syncerus Caffer, the elusive African Cape Buffalo.

"Well now isn't that funny? What is that, a cow bone?" Coy and composed, Viverly slyly plays the fool.

"Found that in the back yard. Couldn't really say where it's from. I thought maybe some kid'd want it or something." The vendor responds with equal deception. Slowly I realize he's in on it too. "I'll probably just end up givin it away."

Ah ha, a new tactic. Knowing she would inevitably fail in a corporeal m?l?e, Viverly now seeks to defeat me through psychological manipulation.

Her not-so-witty banter can only be a misguided attempt to convince me of the mandible's worthlessness, thus discouraging my acquisition of this rare artifact. Oh Viverly, how sorely you unmisunderestimate me.

As Viverly feigns interest in the cubic-zirconia studded ash tray at the next table, I waste no time in my advance. Quickly, I approach the conspiratorial vendor:

"So here's how it's going to be. I'm going to give you this," I slip a crisp 20 across the table, "and you are going to give me what I want." Placing my diminutive body between Viverly and her precious "cow bone," I gesture discreetly toward the mandible.

"This thing? You sure you wouldn't rather have one of these ? "

"Look buddy, I don't need any of your games. Now do we have a deal or not?" Silence. "So that's how it's gonna be, is it? Alright, I'll go to 40, but that's it, you understand?"

It is useless to resist. Slowly he hands over the mandible, trying to conceal a desperate glance over to Viverly.

Victorious, I walk to the door with my prize held high: undisputed proof of the African Cape Buffalo's presence in North America, a reality that until now existed only in legend. I steal a glance back at Viverly.

She smiles and waves, as if to mock me. But we both know I've won today's battle. Until next time Viverly, until next time.

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