Crap Sale, day 1, report

Waking up at 8 am to set-up in time for a 10 am opening is, well, not ideal.

The only spaces left for me were either behind the stairs (which a later arrival made better use of than I envisioned) and in front of the art installation that included a photo of a bloody latex glove, which the attendant volunteered to cover up for the show.

I hate feeling like Jessie Helms. But when I'm trying to sell quaint, ornate uselessness, bloody gloves rather clash. (Once that was covered up, I noticed the rest of the installation, which was actually pretty cool).

The first few hours are blearily remembered for their lack of caffiene, sluggish sales, and feeling like a rank amateur among craft show vets. Had the pope asked in advance that I pay him an egg for caffiene 911, I'd've said "yes". But he'd delivered coffee and nibbles before he asked, without enough money to buy from me or his landlady, so he'll be back tomorrow. Perhaps he'll wisely insist on an egg *before* he comes over. (Then again, I don't have to be there until 10, so I'll have time to dose beforehand.)

We have a date to spend all of next sunday's daylight hitting open houses, and then finally checking out that (south?) indian restaurant that is practically in providence somewhere around Canton.

By the time he left, the Everyone had showed up. hauntmeister fetched us lunch. "If chinese, then steamed broccoli and animal?" "Any particular kind of animal?" "Well, not cat, if possible, and... no organ meat." (Ended up with grilled chicken salad from a sub shop.) This conversation drew, rather than drove away, customers.

I sell more eggs in person, in part because I get so punchy. Every egg has at least one story: the one about Crash building the super-efficient egg-sucker almost solely from stuff in my recycling bin, shortly before he starred in Junkyard Wars. Most of the eggs have at least one other story too.

I even sold a few to people not on my friend's list. I am not making this up.

14 so far. (Most with at least some red in them, as pheromone will lament.) I'm past the break even point, including my one purchase that interested people the most.

So, aside from the 4 parties I remembered, someone else reminded me of a 5th one, involving A LOT of chocolate, and even offered a ride when ever so slightly nudged. Since I've completely munged the diet today due to the sale schedule, chocolate sounds more and more attractive than, say, driving out to Fitchburg, by myself, only to drive back early and still not be sure which party is less sucky when going Stag.

Doe?

D'oh!

Crap Sale, day 1, report

Waking up at 8 am to set-up in time for a 10 am opening is, well, not ideal.

The only spaces left for me were either behind the stairs (which a later arrival made better use of than I envisioned) and in front of the art installation that included a photo of a bloody latex glove, which the attendant volunteered to cover up for the show.

I hate feeling like Jessie Helms. But when I'm trying to sell quaint, ornate uselessness, bloody gloves rather clash. (Once that was covered up, I noticed the rest of the installation, which was actually pretty cool).

The first few hours are blearily remembered for their lack of caffiene, sluggish sales, and feeling like a rank amateur among craft show vets. Had the pope asked in advance that I pay him an egg for caffiene 911, I'd've said "yes". But he'd delivered coffee and nibbles before he asked, without enough money to buy from me or his landlady, so he'll be back tomorrow. Perhaps he'll wisely insist on an egg *before* he comes over. (Then again, I don't have to be there until 10, so I'll have time to dose beforehand.)

We have a date to spend all of next sunday's daylight hitting open houses, and then finally checking out that (south?) indian restaurant that is practically in providence somewhere around Canton.

By the time he left, the Everyone had showed up. hauntmeister fetched us lunch. "If chinese, then steamed broccoli and animal?" "Any particular kind of animal?" "Well, not cat, if possible, and... no organ meat." (Ended up with grilled chicken salad from a sub shop.) This conversation drew, rather than drove away, customers.

I sell more eggs in person, in part because I get so punchy. Every egg has at least one story: the one about Crash building the super-efficient egg-sucker almost solely from stuff in my recycling bin, shortly before he starred in Junkyard Wars. Most of the eggs have at least one other story too.

I even sold a few to people not on my friend's list. I am not making this up.

14 so far. (Most with at least some red in them, as pheromone will lament.) I'm past the break even point, including my one purchase that interested people the most.

So, aside from the 4 parties I remembered, someone else reminded me of a 5th one, involving A LOT of chocolate, and even offered a ride when ever so slightly nudged. Since I've completely munged the diet today due to the sale schedule, chocolate sounds more and more attractive than, say, driving out to Fitchburg, by myself, only to drive back early and still not be sure which party is less sucky when going Stag.

Doe?

D'oh!