Time has come for the winter migration. The chill slid into Hobart like the stranger who steals your seat at the bar, all bright eyes and cheesey smile. The trees decided not to fight the cold and burnt their leaves off in a fiery display of natures' autumn pallet. Freezing winds became sporadically tempestuous belying the sunny days poker face. I gambled on the weather staying clear even though mother nature held a royal flush. I ended up with a full house and lost more than my fragile tolerance to temperatures below 28 degrees.
I packed the nest up and threw out so many things it was as close as I have been to a detox in years. Unfortunately, I literally threw out other peoples stuff as well, and that didn't prove to be anywhere near as cleansing as I had hoped. Abbie had decided that it was easier to sell a whole heap of crap than it was to move it, so she advertised to have a garage sale. Pencilling it in for the morning after both of us did our last shifts at work was either a sign of a sadistic sense of humour, or a sadistically humourless absence of common sense. Either way, it was a night that was best slept off well before anything social could even be considered, let alone acted upon. Unfortunately, that was a luxury restricted to sharper salesmen more comfortable not looking utterly manic trying to sell off an old scarf or a collection of 1970's playboys.
My last shift may have involved me accidentally pouring enough wrong drinks to break some sort of record had anyone been keeping count. Refusing to waste them, I gave them the best home possible and further increased my chances off unintentionally pouring the wrong drink next time. My last knock off drink was therefore more of a piss-take, literally and figuratively, and put me in the right state of mind to get naked. That's just my normal state of mind, but the title for the first doodle out dash around Squires was on the line for my taking. Did I mention how cold it was in Hobart now ? I went to great lengths to remind everyone of that once I had covered up something I am prouder of in warmer climates.
Loaded up on the love work didn't know it was showing me, we all shimmied into the early morning with a dance routine that was as frenetic as it was frightening. We foolishly convinced ourselves that a few hours sleep was worse than none at all, and we spent the conclusion of the night trying to figure out who had come up with such a dodgy plan of attack. Abbie stalled on Struggle Street subtly insinuating that stupidity was my speciality. That left me in charge for the few hours leading up to opening hour. Advertised times meant little to hardened bargainers, just the sort of people I was unprepared to deal with after 12 odd hours on the idiot syrup.
At that time of the day, all they want is antiques, or their head read, and our random pile of rubble was doing little to inspire customer or salesman alike. Professional prick number five in as many minutes took a shine to an old chair camped out in the corner with no price tag on it. Had I more than just a test pattern showing in the theatre of my mind, a few important facts may have become apparent to me. Firstly, Abbie had priced everything she wanted to sell. Secondly, discounting everyone's tendency to exaggerate to prove a point, Abbie claims to have told me on a number of occasions what was, and was not for sale. Thirdly, the sentimental value of the antique chairs in the house had been spoken about at great lengths and on a number of occasions as well.
I had expected bargaining from everyone, even people paying 20 cents for a peeler. A slightly more conscious person may have heard alarm bells ringing when prick #5 snapped his wallet out like a switchblade, paid a fee so low as to be insulting to even you the reader, and ran off down the road holding his bounty head high like it was carved from the true cross. My joy at telling Abbie of our first sale was tarnished with fear, and demolished entirely when Abbie hit the roof with incredulity. It was one of a pair inherited from a deceased grandfather, and the remaining chair would always be a reminder of what happens when devolving animals try to exercise higher functions.
I would have liked to have forgotten such an incident but its scale ensures it will be talked about for years to come. With Abbie off to join Trevor in Freycinet, I would have liked to have given them a better parting gift as a thank you for the wonderful house-mates they had been for the duration of my time in Hobart. Again, my time has been blessed by sharing my experiences with the most amazing bunch of people. Squires could easily sink into a stink hole of shit service, but the awesome team of suds specialists will always ensure its uniqueness to me, and any person lucky enough to stop by.
