You'd think, after four or five times we would learn. But no, once again the wife and I are sitting in that garage, our fingers swelling until our wedding rings had to be pried off and left deep white grooves in the skin.

We don't know what it is about the auctioneers' coffee, but whenever we drink a couple cups, our fingers (and presumably, our blood pressure) swell up. Wife is betting they use a water softener with salt. Guess we should ask.

Guess we should remember to bring our own coffee to these auctions. But their's tastes so good, sitting on those hard seats on that cold concrete floor.

We were a few minutes late to the auction again.

No, it's not that you actually have to be there at any set time, but I prefer to look items over before bidding. Been stuck buying a few things that either weren't what I thought they were, or had major defects, just because I didn't look them over ahead of time. Now the wife, she looked the sale over Friday afternoon, and had several items she was looking at. So she was in no hurry, and I lay all the blame on our late arrival on her.

So, we walked in just as the first item, a small brass spittoon from the 1800s, was set on the block. And still managed seats in the second row, close to the action.

The spittoon? Sold for three dollars. Yeah, there were some out-of-town antique buyers, but these folks seemed to all have their own special interests, which apparently did not include cuspidors.

The auctioneer tried to get ten dollars for a mixed lot which included a box of .410 shells. He was giving a speech about how you can't even buy a box of .410 shells for ten dollars when he was interrupted. By a man offering to bid three dollars.

"The last of the big spenders," was his sarcastic response.

But he took the bid.

A set of four kitchen cannisters came up. All four filled with flour (I don't know... different grinds, maybe? Maybe these folks never used sugar, coffee or tea.), and the auctioneer reminded us to remember their warranty. "If you eat this flour and die, don't you come back and blame it on the flour."

Four quilts, ranging from rags to near perfect, went together for just ten dollars. The question wasn't what was wrong with the quilts, or where the usual quilt buyers were. The question was, who thought those shades of green and orange looked good together, even with the ducks?

Now I really wished I had had a chance to scout this auction. They had one of those huge Tasco telescopes, the kind apartment dwellers use to spy on other apartment dwellers, complete with a good, sturdy tripod. Had to let it go to someone else for just $35 (yes, $35!) just because I didn't know if the lenses were still any good.

Craaap.

A box of books included "The ABCs of Chicken Raising." They threw in a couple brass cranes "to put into your coop," and 1600 Mexican pesos. The last of the big spenders got it all for $2.50.

Grandpa advised they would be by for fresh eggs this spring.

A later lot included a fluorescent bulb, which they called a "grow-bulb."

"Might help with your chickens," was their suggestion.

Auctioneers have standard bid increments, like eBay, depending upon the size of the starting bid. Most of the day's bids were in the $2.50 increments, but occassionally they would go down to a buck and climb by dollars. But never anything smaller.

So, when one of their own spotters called out "thirteen-fifty" when the bid was at $12.50 and he was asking for $15, the auctioneer stopped the auction to glare at the man, who cringed halfway to the floor in shame.

"But that's what they've got on the card..." he tried to explain, pointing to the absentee card in his hand.

"I don't give a damn what that says," was the response. And ignoring the bid, went back to $12.50.

They again had a new spotter (think maybe the old one is kinda hard to replace), who had a small voice to match his stature. After the second or third time of missing his bidders, auctioneer leaned over and almost quietly said, "Remember what I told you to do? You gotta get hoarse."

When a large, well equipped fish tackle box went cheap, the new spotter sped forward and snatched up his prize. The auctioneer asked for his bidder's number, and got a silent stare back.

"No number?" the boss said, incredulously.

"It's his first auction," another spotter explained, as the young man ran in back to get a number.

A Snap-On Tools laminated wall clock with a scantily clad woman with short blonde hair went for just $25. If I had been able to inspect the wares beforehand, I might have been able to see if she was worth bidding on.

'Course, maybe the wife knew that...

Two antique rubber toy tractors came up, each with the driver's head chewed off. This the auctioneer claimed must be due to "wolves", since that species is now officially in our country.

In the same box of old toys was a two-headed, four-armed doll. Not a Siamese doll, but two dolls joined at the waist so that neither had legs. You just flip one over to get the top half of another doll. It looked manufactured, not homemade, but I have never seen anything like that. Neither had the auctioneers. Who would make such a thing? And why?

A dish antenna for television, and all the accoutrements went for $31. As it sold, a man from the gallery stepped forward, and added the user's manual to the pile, which had been in a box of books he won earlier. That's the way folks are at these auctions.

A box of miscellaneous glassware included an ironwood carving of a dolphin, which my Dad collects. We won, at a cheap price. Soon after, an older man reeking of cigarette smoke landed in the empty chair next to me, explaining his granddaughter had her heart set on that dolphin, and he had missed bidding on it. (Outside getting a smoke, perhaps?) Wanted to know if I would part with it. But that was the only thing we wanted in the box, so I turned him down (with wife agreeing).

Still feel bad about it, though.

A box of 12 Disney videos went for only $37.50, but not without grandpa pointing out it included his son's biography.

"Dumbo."

Just to let you know what kind of community we're in, a boxed set of 22 hunting videos went for $67.50, almost the same average price as Disney.

To a woman.

The Disney videos sold to a man.

The new spotter was finally calling out well, by now. Of course, he raised one woman up to $12.50, essentially bidding her against herself. Auctioneer warned he had to catch on, and took the bid back to $5.

There were lots and lots of "chicken" things in this auction. Chicken books, chicken quilts, chicken placemats, chicken cookie jars, chicken wall plaques, chicken what-have-you. When a box came up with half an emu egg in it, the auctioneer commented that had been "one hell of a chicken out of that egg."

You know what a "thinga-ma-boober" is? (Not to be confused with a "thinga-ma-bobber", which I'm sure is something totally different.)

Neither did I. According to the auctioneer, it's the little springy clip on the bottom of a stadium seat that hooks your rear onto the stadium bench. So now I know.

And now, so do you.

The wife and I had been discussing a huge, bright yellow plastic fish before it made it to the block. A good four feet high, it was a kiddie rocking toy, similar to the little plastic cars they ride in. When it and the Barbi-sized barn sold, the nearest spotter grabbed them and called out "Number seven" to the recorder.

The winner shouted out that no, her number was "44" today. An elderly regular who apparently didn't get in early to get her usual low number (we almost always pick the same number, too).

The spotter reprimanded her, "Girl, don't you change numbers on me."

"You change anytime you want," was the auctioneer's response to her.

A whirlpool foot bath came up. Once grandpa announced "sold", he asked the auctioneer for his number. "You just bought that."

Which was news for the son. But since his Dad's still here working on this hard concrete floor, what could he say?

The auctioneer raved about the fun attributes of a plastic water-pumped rocket launcher, extolling how high up you can get your rockets with the foot pump. After noticing the stares from the crowd, he embarrassedly explained.

"That's the whole point of grandkids, so you can play with toys like this."

And on he went.

There was also a Foosball table, which went for under forty bucks. But I noticed, before it was sold, nobody could walk by it without giving the handles a spin. Not even the auctioneer.

A couple Mason jars full of marbles came up early in the auction, and I was amazed there was little bidding. And snatched them up for just $20. (Usually at these things, they go for $20-$30 per jar). And both had plenty of the old, old clay marbles.

After feeling smug about it for a while, I then began to worry that maybe these weren't the real deal, that I bid too much. But the wife pointed out one of the usual marble-buyers wasn't there, and another didn't show up until after my win. (Yes, marbles are hot stuff... don't you know who your local marble dealers are?) But still I worried.

Until two identical jars came up later. And grandpa won them, with a "can't pass up that bargain" look.

For $35.