I walked in carrying three binders and two shoe boxes filled with odds and ends from when I collected every different type of sports card from first through fourth grade. As expected, I was the only customer. From the walls up to the ceiling, there was nothing but cards behind glass covered up by stacks upon stacks of cards. There were display cases on top of display cases on top of even more display cases. There was relatively limited floor space due to the pack-rat nature of the place. I tip-toed around boxes of cards and odd sports memorabilia up to where two men sat silently eying me.
"Hi," I said, "I'm moving to the West coast and was hoping to get some money for my collection of cards here. I watched one of the men roll his eyes and walk away to the back leaving me with the younger putz of the two.
"Put one of the boxes up here," he said, rubbing the counter top in front of him.
He opened the first box and pulled out a few cards. He silently looked at me then back at the cards. He let out a sigh as if I was scum for setting foot in the holyland of cards and then tossed tossed the cards back into the box. He then grabbed the binders and opened them to the middle and flipped through two pages. The other idiot came over shortly after and began flipping through a few cards in the second shoe box.
"Got anything that's worth more than forty cents?" one of them says, while flipping through a stack in his hands, looking directly at me.
I wasn't sure if he was serious at first, so I said nothing and I watched the other doofus join in and ridicule me for awhile about how much my cards "sucked" and for my "sheer lack of good cards."
At first I was offended, but I started to think about how funny the situation really was. This grown man in his late 50's hunched over a shoe box mumbling was trying to insult me by putting down the thin pieces of cardboard I had collected as a child.
The phone rang while he shuffled through the second box and he picked it up and propped the receiver between his fat face and his shoulder while he continued to look through the cards. "Yeah I'm just looking at this one guy's cards he just brought in... I'm going to low ball him, these things are worthless."
I could tell we about were to enjoy ourselves a good old fashion "battle of the wits" at a card shop.
He finished his call, hung up the phone, and settled up to the display case, "I can't offer you much, it's almost not worth my time to go through these things," the guy says.
I cringe to think of what he actually does in his free time.
"Not to mention, there's absolutely nothing good in here. I'll give you $10," he says, putting his hands on his hips.
"Yeah," I say sheepishly starting to pick up the boxes, "I'd probably have better cards if I didn't have to deal with the confines of becoming an adult or having a sex life. Or a life in general. I'll sell them on craigslist."
The guy was stunned. I turned and headed for the door but not before spotting a display case holding a hologram "charizard" pokemon card, and I nearly lost it.
I started to laugh while pushing the door open, "Thanks guy. Real fucking winner over here!" I shout as the door starts to close behind me.
I got home and realized I'd left one the shoe boxes of cards sitting on the floor of the shop. I was willing to let it go considering the entertainment I got out of it and the lesson provided that teaches us, "some things are just easier thrown/given away than trying to make a 'buck' on them." It makes me think George Carlin was onto something when he said: "Isn't it funny that your shit is stuff, and other people's stuff is shit?"
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