Flea markets suck

Okay imagine the worst place imaginable. Got it? Okay now imagine it a hundred times worse. That’s how this goddamn flea market was yesterday (in which I was forced to participate). It was like a combination of Hell, septic tanks, waiting rooms in hospitals, the dentist’s chair when he just told you that he ran out of Novocain but will continue with the root canal anyway, and a kindergarten class. All of those places and feelings just decided to get together and collectively call themselves a flea market.

Let me back up a bit. To five-something in the fucking morning, when it’s still dark outside. Yeah. It was an early start. I was awakened before the crack of dawn, only to be rushed because “we need to leave at 05:30.” What I should have realised was that when Ma said 05:30, she meant a little after six, because that’s when we actually left.

We got to the hell-hole at like six-something. The sun still wasn’t really out, but I was wearing my sunglasses so I could sleep-walk and no one would notice. Then, we proceeded to unload our two full-to-the-brim SUVs of heavy boxes and transport them to our table like 300 metres away (for you Americans, that’s like, I dunno, four blocks or something). I instantly regretted all those times I was *this* close to stealing a shopping cart but never did. Because it really would’ve come in handy.

Anywho, an hour and a half later, everything was finally set up. And from like 8 until 10, things were all okay and normal-ish. Sure there was the occasional freak, but most freaks are still sleeping at that time on a weekend, so it was bearable. Also, things were selling at normal prices.

 

Later, however, the freaks started coming out. They were all unintelligent, weird, semi-OCD, and either smiled way too much or not at all. Many of them looked like the only time they shopped was during a flea market, and they have therefore become experts in the game. Others were just downright greedy. And still others were the kind of freaks where you know they’re not going to buy anything, and they know they’re not going to buy anything, but they still have this unexplainable need to touch EVERYTHING. It was horrible. Not to mention I was hungry and tired and sweaty.

The “haggling” was the best part. And by “best” I mean “worst.” And by “worst”, I actually mean that words can’t really describe the haggle-aspect of what went down.

“Hey how much for this?”

“Oh you mean the 100% silk blouse from DKNY with the tags still on it that says it originally went for $99.99? Uh, I guess I can give it to you at like, a ninety-five percent discount, so let’s say… 20 AED?”

“Really? Not 5?”

“Okay my best price is 15.”

“Are you sure not 5?”

“Yeah I’m sure. Okay 12 is my last price.”

“Aww, boo. Not 5?”

“Goddamn it, fine! Take it for 5!”

“…How about 2?”

Like, are you serious? Then there was this other lady:

“How much is one pillow?”

“One is 10 AED, or you can get all four for 30.”

“But you just said one is 10.”

“…yes.”

“So shouldn’t four be 40?”

“Uhm, yeah, but it’s called a discount. That’s what happens when you buy in bulk.”

“Oh strange. Well, I only want one, so how about I give you… 1.50?”

And this sort of stuff kept happening! By noon I didn’t give a shit about haggling or anything anymore. I just wanted to get rid of everything so I wouldn’t have to repack it all and schlepp it the whole way back to the car. Also, I was really tired and just wanted to go home to shower and rest.

And later, by the time we were ready to leave, I was practically giving shit away for free, BEGGING people to take it.

 

Eventually, we got rid of 95% of the trinkets, 15 out of 16 pairs of shoes, half the hanging clothes, three-quarters of the folded clothes, and all of the eight pillows. I think that’s pretty good. We came with two cars-full, and we left with just four boxes, which are being sent to charity. Oh and we made over 800 AED, 200 of which I kept for myself, whammy!

But now I can barely move. My body is stiff and painful and sore and I wanna curl up and die. I’m strongly considering spending those hard-earned 200 dirhams on a full-body massage.

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6 Responses to “Flea markets suck”

  1. Biological D. Says:

    my belly is hurting. from laughing so hard. keep up the good stuff and send me a postcard from s africa.
    rots a rove!

  2. Pelzina's relative Says:

    Come on, Ron… you know you LOVED it… you told me that soooo many times and we had sooo much fun. And remember the stalker… people loved you!!!! Anyway, thanks for helping me get rid of those silk blouses from the 90s…

  3. Biological D. Says:

    keep up the good stuff.or postcard? or both?

  4. lostinamirage Says:

    HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
    How did I miss this one?!
    I lol-ed at the 90’s shoulder pads reference. :D

    But sorry you had to deal with such annoying freaks! Ugh. How do you put up with such things?

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