Hey y'all,
My first flea market was really cool.
In the U-district in Seattle, they have a decent outdoors Farmer's Market set up, and a flea market was tagged on just a few weeks ago inside (most important at this time of year) at the University Heights Community Center.
The building began life as an elementary school, complete with old wooden floors and wide staircases with fat banisters. It was only the fourth week-end they've done it, so there were about ten vendors there.
I set up my booth up in the middle of the old hallway right in front of the middle entrance, with the side entrances equidistant from me. In other words, prime location and the cherry was the huge windows right behind me to provide plenty of natural lighting.
I draped my silk saris to disguise the long wooden bench delinquents and class clowns once sat on before visiting the dreaded principal, and completed my Arabian Nights transformation by draping the roll-up camp table that would hold my assortment of books with a purple silk special from India, via Chicago.
Laying out my blanket and pillows for coziness, I set up my sign also offering FREE Tarot card reading with book purchase. Shuffling my cards, I was ready for business.
Millie Buchanan, the lady in charge of the flea market shebang, came tottering up the stairs in complete clown regalia. Over the phone, I could tell she was elderly, and as soon as I saw her pulling herself up the stairs, I knew I was right.
Well into her eighties, Millie had taken the time to don a yellow and red costume, with matching face paint and red afro wig. She had a little horn that she tooted on a regular basis as she visited around the market, helping people any way she could, and shaking hands with the kiddies.
She also had a booth of her own set up and was determined to make the flea market a success. She even offered to make flyers for me and hand them out if I gave her a week's notice next time I came.
She was the sweetest of the characters I met that day.
Right across from me was Marcia (pronounced Mar-see-Yaa) Moonstar, performance poet and mystic (wanna-be, I suspect), and she was very gracious at my direct competition for her readings.
Besides cards and poetry books and CD's of techno keyboard pop with her reading her poetry, she offered tarot and astrology readings starting at $10 a pop (when you consider that my books are $10 and the reading is complimentary, where do you think the better deal is?).
I was dismayed that we were set up in direct competition; but as I said, she was gracious and gently suggested I charge for my readings.
I'm a writer, not a psychic.
Marcia (pronounced Mar-see-Yaa) had all kinds of questions about what I was doing and I made the mistake of telling her about the Rasmuson Foundation grant. Because after that, it was an act of will to get her to leave me and my booth alone.
One thing I’ve learned thus far is that all it takes is one person to monopolize my space and other, would be book-buyers and readers are kept away. But she offered several times to have me listen to her read her goddess re-emergence poetry with the picture of her in full regalia on the back.
"I wear a Raven's mask with my cloak when I perform in public," she said, as I looked at her in a moon cloak draping her head and glittery scepter.
Ah, what the hell.
People want their dreams and Mar-see-Yaa is no exception. She just didn't want to stay put in her booth. We did a trade of items, and for once I came out the winner, for she was excited her work would be going to Alaska.
You're a sitting duck when you set yourself up like I did. I guess a long table keeps the invasive at bay, but me sitting on my blanket with Tarot cards, saris, and vivid sign attracts the attention of...certain types of people.
In the middle of the day, a tall thin man with silver hair and a turquoise western doo-dad that substitutes for a necktie came up, and looking down on me, asked in a booming voice:
"Do you read fortunes?"
"Only if you buy my book," I said.
"Well have I got something to sell you!"
“Oh shit,” I thought, as I politely stated that I was the one who paid for a booth.
But he continued.
"I'm a mystic, and an artist, and a musician, and a preacher!" He boomed. "Is what you're selling cool?"
"What I'm selling is beyond cool," I replied.
"Beyond Cool! Now that's something for the lost youth to think about. You must be an Enlightened Master Mistress!"
"If you insist."
"I came in to take care of a call to nature! I'll be right back!"
And of course, he was. After some carrying on, he picked up the book and went to "Preacher Man and the Golden Pedestal," complimented me on my descriptive style, found my preacher offensive, and offered to quote extensive scripture to me if I had a minute.
"Well, I am working."
He offered to keep it short, but he still kept potential people away until he left my booth ten minutes later. And that was after telling me that he was Romeo to a gorgeous, yet misguided saleslady.
It was a day.
It wasn't even a busy day, but I sold nine books.
And I had to work for it.
Peace,
Montgomery
