Don't let me bid
By Staff
Leada DeVaney, Editor
Sitting in my house is an off-kilter barstool. The seat is covered in a bright, striped fabric. It doesn't match anything else I own and because it's warped, you can't actually sit on it for very long.
I paid $27.50 for the chair and don't have a clue what to do with it. Let me explain:
Recently, Greg and I went to a furniture auction. I loved it and quickly got caught up in the bidding.
"Slow down, Speedy," Greg said with a laugh. "Don't run up the bids."
I took my number and sat back. I had my eye on a chest, a bed and an end table.
After about 30 minutes, the man picked up the end table and brought it to the front. The bidding started.
"Someone open up the bidding…?" the auctioneer started in his rapid-fire voice. Someone bid $15, and I countered with $20. They bid $25 and Greg nudged me along and I went to $27.50 (big spenders, huh?)
It went once and then twice and then the auctioneer looked at us and said "the bar stool goes to number 323." I looked at Greg and he looked back at me.
Bar stool? We bought a bar stool? What about our end table? That's when we realized we had bid on the wrong thing.
"Oh well," I replied with a laugh. "At least it didn't cost us a whole lot."
We had a good laugh and waited for the thing I really wanted – the cherry sleigh bed – to come up for auction.
So we didn't make more mistakes, I covered all the bases before hand.
"How much do you want to spend on this?" I asked Greg, clasping my auction number in my hand.
We discussed our price limit and worked out our strategy.
Soon, the bed was center stage and, once we checked and made sure we weren't buying any more barstools, we readied ourselves to bid.
"Who's going to open up the bidding for the queen-sized sleigh bed?" the auctioneer said.
I heard a voice say "$100."
Without thinking, I raised my number and countered with $200.
I heard laughter and felt a tap on my leg.
"That was me bidding $100," Greg said. "You just upped our own bid."
The worst part was the $200 bid seemed to be hanging around. Please, please, I thought, let someone bid higher so I don't have to deal with this fact I cost us $100.
"$300" I heard someone shout. I countered, checking to make sure this time I wasn't bidding against Greg. In a short while, the bidding ended and we won the bed. I've often thought my life was like a sitcom – there's always something strange going on. And that's just what it felt like Saturday night. There we were, Lucy and Ethel or Felix and Oscar, in another madcap adventure. Who knows? Maybe Greg and I can get a job at a candy factory? I'll let you know when we end up stuffing ourselves with candy from the conveyor belt.
