Lady Bric-a-Brac and the Duchess of Emporia set out at an unreasonably early hour this past Saturday morning to investigate South Carolina’s “Largest Garage Sale” at the Myrtle Beach Convention Center.

Now in it’s 25^th year, the “extravaganza” boasted well over 200 vendors—some who had cleaned out their attics and basements, others who were re-selling what they had scavenged at Goodwill and yard sales, and still others who had transported wares from their “antique” and “consignment” booths to this larger venue.   All in all, it was a dizzying array of junk rather than treasure  . . . or rather, a 100,000 square foot dust heap.

As one might well imagine, this was not an event for the faint of heart. Forced to rub elbows with throngs of bargain hunters (the same demographic found at state fairs, flea markets, and Wal-Mart), Lady B and the Duchess found their sensibilities to be imperiled at every turn. Bolstered, however, with extra-large containers of Dunkin’ Donuts iced-coffee, they were prepared to stay the course.  “Discomfort and distress be damned!” proclaimed Lady B.  “I dare say,” quipped the Duchess.

After locating an empty patch of dirt at the furthermost reaches of the parking lot (William the chauffer had the day off), Lady B and the Duchess were rather crestfallen to observe droves of empty-handed shoppers exiting the convention center at 9 o’clock am.  (These would have been the die-hard bargain hunters who had camped out the night before in order to take the garage sale by storm when the doors opened at the crack of dawn).  Indeed, upon arrival Lady B and the Duchess fully expected to witness scores of shoppers laden with new found treasures (all accumulated for less than $8 and before 7:30 am) staggering triumphantly under the weight and bulk of their booty as they loaded up their Chevy Tahoes and Ford Explorers. This state of affairs did not bode well, they agreed, but they would nonetheless persevere  . . .

After wandering disconsolately among the various and sundry vendors for a good half hour, Lady Bric-a-Brac determined a marvelous way to salvage (pun intended!) the day’s adventure.  The challenge she posed to the Duchess was as follows:  they would check their discriminating taste at the convention hall door (a scandalous proposition indeed!) and then retrace their steps in earnest in search of one item to purchase.  (In other words, no one was leaving until they had fodder for this week’s OCB)   From a practical point of view, such an endeavor seemed completely futile, but Lady B and the Duchess are not always practically minded . . . this is, of course, what endears them to one another.

Needless to say, the well-seasoned curiosity shopper must possess enormous reserves of patience and fortitude to sift through the dross in hopes of chancing upon the well-hidden gem. Lady B and the Duchess know this all too well—particularly since on those rare occasions when they do strike “gold” (or at least a gold patina), they often hem and haw over whether the gem they’ve uncovered is indeed a gem.  They’ll often caution each other that that could do better or that they don’t really need  X.  See, for instance the recent post, “The High Stakes of Curiosity Shopping” for previous episodes of wistfulness.

Without further ado, the search was on.  Perhaps a single Regency-style etched wine goblet that was priced at $2 on a 50% off table?  . . . Lady B thought she might hold this item “in reserve” if absolutely desperate and if the vendor could be prevailed upon to accept 50 cents for the orphan piece of stemware. She was not ready just yet to settle on so banal a “find.”

A few booths away, Lady B spied a rather battered Electric Mantel Clock with a light-up fire place. It was, without question, an unusual piece that held Lady B in thrall for a moment or two.  A hand-written tag noted the price—$10—along with a short description—“Works.” Upon closer inspection, Lady B noted that the small knob used to set the time was bent on a 45-degree angle and that the power cord and plug (original) were brittle and cracked.  This raised considerable doubt in her mind as to whether the miniature hearth would actually illuminate once plugged in.

Nevertheless, Lady B opined that the piece had enormous potential and would more than adequately fulfill her obligation in the Challenge. Nonetheless, she was going to hold out for the moment and risk the possibility that someone else (a kindred spirit per chance?) might also be wandering through this fourth circle of Hell (Dante’s gathering place for the avaricious and the miserly) and recognize the piece’s quiet magnificence.

A mid-century lighted fireplace mantel clock

As the Duchess was inexplicably poring over a table of beaded animal key chains and bracelets, Lady B wandered to a nearby table that featured a mishmash of items from someone’s grandmother’s house.  A few unremarkable kitchen items, a stained print of Othello and Desdemona, some embroidered handkerchiefs, a few old magazines, and then . .  low and behold . . .  a large Imperial Glass “Candlewick” pink ashtray.  $3.  A quick inspection revealed no chips or flea bites and Lady B hurriedly offered the vendor $2, which he accepted without hesitation.  She grabbed her prize and hurriedly went in search of the Duchess to boast of her new “trinket and jewelry tray.”

Imperial Glass “Candlewick” Ashtray

Feeling much less anxious now that this seemingly dire adventure had not been for naught, Lady B and the Duchess continued to zig-zag their way through the crowds, perusing table after table of second-hand and third-hand (and quite possibly fourth-hand) goods. Having reached the far corner of the hall, Lady B.’s glance lingered on a cast metal art deco floor lamp (price tag $50) while the Duchess considered a porcelain lamb. (Yes, “lamb” not “lamp”.)  Without provocation, the vendor blurted out,   “I’ll make you an offer on that lamp you can’t refuse.”  Startled Lady B responded, “Oh, and what that might be?”  The vendor replied, “I’ll let you have it for $40.”  Having regained her composure, Lady B. acknowledged that it was indeed a very fine lamp (it was, even with the rust patina and scuffs and scratches), but she wasn’t willing to pay more than $30. He said he’d “let it go for $35, but that was his bottom line.”  So Lady B. graciously thanked him for his consideration and told him that she’d think about it.

After discoursing with the Duchess about what practical use the lamp might have, Lady B had an epiphany.  That lamp was the perfect bedroom reading lamp.  She simply could not leave without it.  As the Duchess went in search of a vintage porcelain swan nightlight—(the Duchess does have singular taste!), Lady B returned in haste to the vendor, an imperceptible bead of perspiration beginning to form at her temple.  (She was certain that the aforementioned kindred spirit—the phantom who might snap up the mantel clock with light-up fireplace—would also be eyeing her lamp.)

And while Lady B suspects that her readers might find this post a bit rambling, she will, as they say, “cut to the chase” and briefly explain how she acquired the pièce de résistance of the South Carolina garage sale.

Lady B expertly negotiated the asking price of $50 down to $30 after convincing the husband-and-wife vendors (antique dealers who claimed they had “put too much into it” to even consider accepting less than $40) that she was part of the last bastion of “readers”—that strange and tiny sub-species of the human race who find both instruction and delight in the printed page.  This was no small feat as the vendors were convinced that Lady B was an undercover dealer who was simply going to turn around and restock said “vintage art deco metal floor lamp” in her own antique booth with a whopping price tag of $125.   After some more haggling, Lady B’s identity as a professor of “lit-tra-ture” was accepted . . . as was $30 for the lamp.  It was without question, a triumph!

There were no specialty martinis or champagne splits to celebrate the spoils of the day, though Lady B and the Duchess did revive their violated sensibilities and confer endless praise and admiration upon one another’s garage sale prowess over a most civilized repast at Croissants Bistro and Bakery.   To paraphrase the Rev. William Jones (an early nineteenth-century British clergyman),  “When [wo]men have been fellow-sufferers . . . it naturally endears them to one another . . . it would rather be expected, that they should congratulate each other on their common deliverance.”