"I'm going to an auction this evening" I told Friend Will breezily this afternoon, as if it were something I do all the time.

It's not. I had never been before. Many people find auctions intimadating - you know the old story about how some poor soul had to scratch his eyebrow and accidentally bid a million dollars on a Ming Vase or something.

I didn't find the idea of an auction any more intimidating than any other situation in which I would get involved in a group/crowd activity not knowing the ettiquette or knowing a soul there. Which is to say I found it absolutely terrifying.

But, I never let a little thing like sheer terror stand between me and something I felt I ought to do. As I told a counselor one time "Me and my fear go everywhere together."

So, I called ahead to try to get as much of a grip on what was going on as I could. I asked for directions and was told that the auction "sets up in an alley" and "would go on in spite of the snow." I couldn't imagine that there wasn't a building of some kind involved, but, knowing what I do about the archatecture of T.town I could easily visualize anything from a garage to a tent housing the thing.

It turned out to be a large, rickety shed. As I approached the building a woman close to me in age was coming down the alley the other way. She was quite heavy set and sort of waddled as she walked in a heavy down coat and mismatched gloves. As we drew near each other, I saw that she had exactly one tooth, on the bottom right. She opened a door which was unmarked and which I had not noticed.

I was about to ask if this was the entrance to the auction when she turned to me and said "OOOG-AH-BUUUG-AH-OOOG-AH!" and opened the door to something that was either A) the auction or B) a soup kitchen.

"Hello" I said, smiling. I was able to be non-surprised because, as much as I hate to say it, she looked like the kind of person for whom Ooog-ah-buuug-ah-ooog-ah would pass as a greeting. At the same time, I noticed she had beautiful hair.

Then she did surprise me, because she smiled back and gave me a look of half relief and half courtesy and said perfectly clearly, "Are you coming in? It's terribly cold."

I guessed that she had Tourette Syndrome which is a very tough burden to bear. I've known a couple of people who had it....they had facial tics that they couldn't control and sometimes yelled out things. One young man I went to school with barked. You can only imagine what kind of hell his life was. Anyway, that would explain both her unusual "greeting" and lack of dental work....though there are certainly ways around the tics for getting dentistry. Clearly, she was not someone who Had Advantages.

"This is the auction?" I asked. She nodded. "Thank you. You're right, it's freezing out."

A bunch of unshaven guys in flannel shirts were drinking coffee and eating french fries and soup which were being sold at a wood panelled window. They sat on old furniture, or leaned against beat up appliances. The building's interior looked like what it was - a great big shed with a makeshift office / kitchen space. Above another window hung a sign which read " Do not tease, feed, or molest the animals or throw things into their enclosure" Behind the window sat a sweet faced older lady conducting some sort of business.

Okay, I thought, I can't be too out of place here: these people have a sense of humor. And, in spite of being wildly overdressed ( my warmest coat is my good coat which has velvet covered buttons and trim) I began to feel pretty at ease. I joined the stream of people wandering around the edges of the place looking at old furniture, old books, beanie babies, tools, pots, pans, dishes, soap dispensers, snow blowers, tools I couldn't have identified on a bet, costume jewelry, electronics in various degrees of working condition and obsolescense, dirty magazines, brick-brac, baseball cards, toys, action figures and STUFF.

"Okay, people! 5:00! Move on out - first lot's outside!" said an elderly gent. I moved out doors with the herd, keeping my hands firmly clasped in front of me and my face as nuetral as a dolls. Someone swung a tarp away from some boxes.

"And we're off-an-runnin! We got a lot a pans here, pots-n-pans here, lot-a-pots here" and he did. A box of pots and pans was being heafted by a tall gentleman with a cowboy hat who endevored to hold a few of them up for folks to see."Do I have a dollar? One dollar! Two-two, whadaya gonna do-do?Am I bid two-two? Two? Two! Three? Two! Sir? Three? Three! On lots-a-pots! Whadaya gonna do-do? Four? Do I have four? Three? Three! SOLD to - Number please!"

Someone thrust out a white card with a three digit number on it. I noticed almost everyone around me had one. I also noticed a fellow standing beside the auctioneer. He wrote quickly into a two part ledger - the number the bidder had given him, the lot number of the pots, and selling price. The numbered card had to be some kind of identifier. So you COULDN'T scratch your nose and make a bid by accident - at least not a winning bid. Still, as I watched I was aware that the bidding went very very fast and some of the signels the bidders gave were on the "unobtrusive" side. A finger up, a slight wave, a firm nod or head shake. For someone like me, an "audio learner" it was no problem at all to follow along, but I bet here would be a significant portion of the population who would find it confusing.

"Where do you get the numbers?" I asked a lady beside me.

"Oh the lady under the 'animal sign'. Only she's nice." the lady informed me. "You give her your license, she writes it down and you pay for everything you bid on at once. You can use a check, if you want."

It was a pretty slick system. Not that I was going to bid on anything. Except I did. I couldn't help myself. For there, in a box were a couple of perfectly good Air Bake cookie sheets, along with a dish drainer and the kinds of containers I use to mix sauces which I desperately needed. And the auctioneer couldn't get above a dollar for the lot! I raised my hand desisively, and, since I noticed women having a slightly harder time getting noticed by the auctioneer said "here, sir" "Two-to the lady! Two! Three? Three? Going, going, three, three? Sold! To the lady in black - Number please!"

There was all kinds of stuff in there. A lamp shade! Trivets. A ladies wallet. A tote bag made out of curtains. Antique Christmas lights - this in addition to the stuff I could see on top! What a bargain! I was hooked.

Still, the snow - the "flurry" which had been predicted, was not stopping, nor letting up. By the time I got my self pointed in the direction of my town, I realized I was in for a rough trip. Nothing at all had been done to the road - the Interstate - between T.town and home. I avoided one several car accident before spinning out at the light at Hughes Shop Road.

By the grace of God, I didn't hit anything, but I was in the travel lane facing the wrong way. I pulled off onto the shoulder, still facing the wrong direction, and promptly got stuck.

Damn Maryland weather forecasters. This was supposed to be a "light dusting" not an inch of snow over an inch of ice. I got out to see if I had any kitty litter in the back. Somebody spun out going the other way. Traffic moved past me carefully, but I was just waiting for someone to come over the hill and smack right into my car. A State Trooper pulled up behind me, and tried to stop.

Oh great. I wonder what the protocol is if you get hit by a trooper? I wondered as I stepped out of the way to avoid getting run over. The police officer finally managed to stop the cruiser, and I could tell he wasn't going to get started again easily either. Poor man.

"I sent for a salt truck!" He said over the din of traffic, "G--damn Marty Bass!" he added, taking one of the local weathercaster's names in vain. He noticed my Mass plates. "Oh - THAT'S why you had the sense to get out of the road - experience! Are you off the shoulder?"

"I don't think so, Officer." I said.

"No, you're in good shape. When we get some salt out here you and I can back up into the intersection and get going the right way. Can you tell if they're okay in that car up ahead?"

"They just spun out and pulled off, same as me. Although - " I cringed, "You might want to look behind you." Four seperate cars, trying to creep forward to the light careened off the road, into each other, and then back down the hill into the ditch."

"Aw, Christ!" he swore, and half walked half slid down to the accident scene.

Meanwhile two teenaged guys were stuck in a pick up trying to get up the hill the other way. The other spin-out, who turned out to be a member of the Armed Services ( Army, I think) and I tried to give the kid a push with the aid of his friend, the passenger. "This sucks. This ain't happenin' " the young driver said. "I'm gonna pull off. I haven't been driving that long. I don't wanna wreck - my father'd kill me." I repeated the bit about the salt truck being on its way.

He called his parent on his cell phone and still got a blast of gas any way - I could hear it clear on the other side of the interstate from the kid's cell phone. Possibly, when you have a teenaged son, you are just in permanent "yell mode". Though, really, I felt bad for the kid. He HAD tried to do the right thing, after all.

Finally, the salt truck showed up. I was able to get enough traction to get out and get home.

It's true I got some real bargains on some stuff I can use and some stuff I can sell on ebay. But I have to say it wasn't exactly worth the trip!!