Friday. Geez, it's been a week already. Falling behind in entries, yet again.

Our community lost one of its long-term residents again not too long ago. Which meant another estate auction. This woman, I believe a great-grandmother, since her grandchildren are roughly my age, was a garage sale fanatic and had filled a ten-room home with her collectibles. Chiefly glassware and dolls. Thousands and thousands of dolls.

Literally.

Something over 3,500 dolls.

But some reason, and I did not ask why, the heirs did not go with our local auctioneers. Instead they brought in two out-of-towners, who held the auction over three days. In the front, back and side yards of the deceased woman's home. So, last Friday I went the hour before the auction time reported in the paper to inspect the wares.

Most tables were covered with dense plastic sheeting. Too thick to see. Friday's auction was just the household goods. The stuff the woman actually used.

Her junk.

The tables and tables of chinaware, books and the antique furniture would all be sold on Saturday or Sunday. Along with the most anticipated doll collection. And the house itself, and the furnishings. (Wife later informed me the two auctioneers held simultaneous auctions. One in one part of the yard, the other somewhere else. Your tough luck if you were interested in both dolls and china, or books and furniture.)

Turns out the ads in the paper were wrong on the starting time, an hour different from the times listed on the banner over the yard and posted on the trailer parked out front that the main auctioneer had hauled in from his town. I visited briefly with the friendly old cowboy, wearing the clipon mike and earpiece, and he had decided to compromise.

They started at four-thirty. Hope the items you wanted weren't already sold when you showed up.

Met one of the mothers of our youth group there, which was surprising considering her recent back surgery. We ended up cruising the available boxes almost together, which might have made some of the regular buyers wonder. But she's good. Spotted an old derby in the original hatbox, and said it was a real gem.

Others apparently knew it too. Was the highest item while I was there ($47.50... and I suspect the woman buyer got a bargain).

She also spotted some small glass vials in a tray that were starting to turn purple. They got more for that tray than almost all the other 20-some flats of glassware combined.

But this auction was different. First off, the auctioneer stood on a small stepladder that he moved around the yard. So he didn't turn and look around much. In his opening spiel he introduced all his help, and proudly announced there were no shills in the audience. And that none of his spotters would bid. (Presumably a poke at our locals, since all their spotters and help will bid... but they're not upping the price. They're trying to win the items, and often do.)

But with this system, there is no block. Boxes are just held up and sold. Not counting the auctioneer and his recorder, there were only three people working. The other auctioneer, a young kid, and a small woman. So almost nothing ever got taken out of a box. Many items disappeared sight unseen, which kept bids low.

The shortage of hands also caused lots and lots of missed bids. I got called once for scratching my nose (no, I didn't back out, but I didn't get stuck buying, either), yet other folks waving both arms and shouting were ignored. The heirs, standing together in a pod, got to grumbling pretty quick about that.

Clearly the auctioneer's goal was to move fast. Bids rarely went below $2.50, and never below $2.00. If there were no takers, they threw something else in. And you better be fast making up your mind. He never asked three times on any price. And rarely dropped to a smaller increment. "Two-fifty! Do I hear five dollars? Five dollars? Sold! For $2.50." A few regulars were taken aback by this speed. And bids were low.

If two people got into a bidding war, and one finally quit, the other was immediately announced as the winner. No offer to the gallery for someone else to step in at a higher bid. Glad I didn't have anything I really wanted there, because I usually wait until the third call, and always wait and see how two-way bid wars end before jumping in myself.

Like our local auctioneers, there were the occassional double winners, with the auctioneer calling one bidder, and a spotter on someone else. First time it happened was early. Did they restart to break the tie?

Nope.

"We don't have tie bids," the auctioneer stated, like it was the bidders' fault. And awarded the item to the bidder he had been watching. The other bidder, near me, was pissed and disappointed, and no doubt the heirs could figure out they just got screwed out of the best price.

The woman had five, yes five nearly identical toaster ovens. Unknown, of course, if any worked, so they went for only $2.50 or $5. Likewise for the five vacuum cleaners, but they went all five together for $5.

I went in early, and got two flats of Happy Meal toys for $2.50. Guess I'm set for geocache tokens for life.

There were two large tables of flats of glassware. Rather than offering them up, one at a time, they just did a whole table at once, for choice. Two flats went out for $5 each, a couple for $2.50, and an auction regular snarfed up 10-12 flats for a grand total of $2.50. If he sells those items at a quarter each, or even a dime apiece at a garage sale, he'll come out decently ahead.

The second table of glassware had the one flat with purple glass for $17.50, a couple at $5, and then the whole rest of the table, another dozen flats or so, to the same regular for, you guessed it, $2.50.

I picked up two boxes of office paper for $2. Just because I figured the paper was worth it. The box of pens is just that, but we can always use pens at the youth group meetings. A few odds and ends including, of all things, a toothbrush holder. But I passed the wife on the street on my way home, and she quickly rummaged through my wins. And she found a wax paper sack under the paper. Full of stamps. No, nothing collectible, near as I can tell. Just uncanceled stamps. But probably four to five dollars worth of stamps. A bargain, and I can figure the office paper was all free.

Our local auctioneers would have caught that.

There were over 25 boxes of magazines. I kid you not. Top ones were People, Reader's Digest and National Geographic, but I hadn't checked below. No takers on the first eight boxes for $2.50.

No takers on all the boxes for $2.50.

Bet they went into the nearby dumpster. If I had the time, would have been worth $2.50 to go through them. Only need one gem, one headline issue to get your money back.

As we moved into the back yard by the driveway (right next to the funeral home, by the way... at least they didn't have to haul her far), I found myself by the heirs, apparent old classmates to another woman from our youth group who was there to bid and visit.

When she won a mass of boxes for $2.50, she asked the nearest cousin if he wanted anything, to help himself. It became apparent the heirs had not sorted the goods. If they wanted anything, they were expected to buy it.

One cousin wanted a flat filled with tall, thin stemware and vases. The cousins all cheered when she won.

They grumbled en masse when the auctioneer failed to open any box, or lumped huge caches of goods. And shouted loudly, and unpleasantly, when the man missed a bid. Or dropped a glass lamp.

Another female cousin obviously wanted an old, brown earthenware pitcher. The kind with the fake basketweave. Beaten and chipped from years of use, reportedly used for pouring iced tea for grandchildren. This descendant wanted it to the point of taking a picture of it in her cousin or sister's hands. Lest she didn't win.

Yeah, I immediately decided I would gladly kick in at least $20 to the cause, if it came to it, to make sure she would win. But it wasn't necessary.

Now, as if in spite, when this box came up, this time the auctioneer pulled something out to show the crowd.

The old pitcher. And expounded about it's age, the normalness of wear, its collectibility.

Her face fell.

He opened at $5. She bid immediately, while the dollar signs were still floating across the yard.

And no one.

No one.

Bid against her.

And I have final complaint about these out-of-town auctioneers. The camping trailer on the street out front was their mobile office, complete with computers and printed receipts. But they wouldn't let you use the door. You had to go to the small window above the trailer tongue to pay your fees (which also had 5% tacked on top).

The woman taking the fees and checking their records was seated at a table inside that window, placing your head exactly at the level of her crotch. While she was leaning down to take the cash and hand out receipts, her legs were spread wide around the table legs.

She wasn't a knock out, but she wasn't unattractive. And she was wearing shorts.

Short shorts. And I freely admit, I was a little embarrassed to have to look into the window to answer her questions.

I mean, if she just shifted her legs the wrong way just the littlest bit...

Well, whether I liked it or not, I would know what colour her panties were, you know?