Here is a nice French travel advertisement, just to get me in the mood as I plan our next buying trip. This ad is dated 28 June 1930, is 27x38cm and is $40. |
It’s
been 12 months since we closed our retail shop in Eumundi, so for a year I have
not encountered the bold and the beautiful and the just plain weird who used to
come by to visit me.
But
having the Pop Up shop for the last three weeks has brought it all flooding back.
So
today an old lady came into the shop.
She walked past a set of four American spindle back chairs with woven cane
seats, past a French walnut marble-topped bedside cabinet, past a Honduran
mahogany Georgian table that seats six, and positioned herself next to a large
English oak coffer. It’s a beautiful
piece that dates to 1750 and is one of the oldest pieces of furniture for sale
in Australia right now.
Does anyone around here sell actual
furniture? she asked. I pointed to
the piece she was standing right next to and said I have actual furniture.
No, she said, I mean real
furniture. I have real furniture,
I said, even older than you. Yeah that was a bit mean, but hey she was
dissing my stuff.
The lovely French enamelware has been selling solidly, so it's definitely on my Must Find List for next trip. As long as I get there before the Americans, I should be fine. |
But
obviously I need to work on my meanness, because my tart little comment went
right over her head.
She
sighed loudly and rolled her eyes at my stupidity for not understanding that when
she said “furniture” she meant “cheap, nasty, stapled together plywood furniture”.
I felt my left eyebrow involuntarily rising,
I felt my lips pursing, I felt downright
meanness coming on.
We have chairs, we have tables, we
have chests, we have cabinets, I said. They
are all traditionally regarded as furniture.
She
looked at me blankly, her mouth working silently. I just looked at her, with my raised
eyebrow. She was a rude old lady and I
wasn’t going to help her out, so I let the silence grow.
Eventually
a thought formed – But do you have
bookcases? she asked. Yes, I said. See
that Art Deco stepped bookcase in the window? That’s
a bookcase. No, she said, I mean a real bookcase.
My right eyebrow had now joined the left; it’s a real bookcase! I replied.
Yes, but I meant a tall
bookcase, she said triumphantly. The conversation may as well have been Guess what number I’m thinking of? with every
number I nominated not being right. If I’d
been able to say Ha! Here is a tall
bookcase, she would have countered with But
I meant a tall, thin bookcase.
Now this is rare - an ad for the Moulin Rouge, from the days before they were mostly boobie- girls with tassels. This ad is for La Geisha opera. It is dated 14 July 1906, 29x40cm, and is $52. |
In
fact, it became apparent that she wasn’t interested in buying furniture
from me (or anyone else) – it was just her way of opening the
conversation, which then didn’t go the way she planned because she had failed
to notice the variety of furniture she had marched past to get to me.
It
turned out that what she actually wanted was for me to give her free valuations
of her belongings. My face was getting a
right workout, with the eyebrows now furrowed.
No, was the answer. Did you guess that was coming? I owed her no explanation, No, was the only response she was
getting.
She
looked at me blankly again, clearly expecting something more. But I had wasted enough breath on this old
chook. I looked back at her, leaned
slightly forward over my desk, and gave her my best Less Than Impressed look. Without another word she turned tail and
walked out.
This is a random shelf photo from the Pop Up shop. We have lots of lovely vintage French glass. |
The
only other You’ve Got to be Joking moment this week was when a couple with
their 10 year old son came by for a browse.
The
boy picked up a large carving knife, and drew it across his
throat. A carving knife. And he didn’t do a pretendy cut-your-throat
action, the knife actually made contact with his throat.
I
was aghast and quickly stepped forward. Sweetheart, that’s a really effective way of
killing yourself, I said. He gave me
a look that only exasperated 10 year olds can - I know what I’m doing, he replied.
What you’re doing, I said
firmly, is coming close to seriously
injuring yourself. It’s a dumb thing to
do, so put the knife down right now.
The
exasperation was replaced with dumbfoundness – he appeared to have never been
spoken to in a firm tone before.
His
father turned back from his browsing - What
did he do? he asked. He almost cut
his own throat with a carving knife, I told him. Ah, kids,
was the nonchalant response. What, you have some spares at home so you
can afford to lose this one? I asked.
He gave me a smirk and a shrug and I turned back to my desk, abandoning
the family to deal with their suicidal genes on their own.
So
that was the week that was. For the most
part everyone has been lovely, with lots of welcoming us back to town,
even if only momentarily. We have one
week to go before we close, and this has been so successful I will definitely
consider doing it again.
In
the meantime, we will be back at the Caloundra Street Fair next Sunday, 27 July,
with a selection of nice things to show you.