G-Sale

by Randy Nargi

  “You’ve got to understand that a situation where the wrong weight and type of paper was used in a children’s product,” the guy said. “Something like that would be very rare.”

  “Is that what happened with Pot o’ Gold?” Ed asked. “Wrong paper weight?”

  “Kid, that was a long time ago. Maybe it happened, maybe it didn’t. All I know is that the industry has put a lot of safeguards in place since the 60s to prevent something like that from ever happening again…”

  Ed couldn’t get much more out of the old guy. And the Pot o’ Gold game became his white whale. He’d never stop until he found it.

  18. Sour Apple Green

  At 1:15 AM, Cocoa finally had enough of Angela’s cuddling on the shag carpet in the den. The dog gave her a low warning growl, squirmed out of her reach, and trotted off to the living room where he could be alone. Angela took a big gulp of wine and wondered what type of outfit would be appropriate for a dog who abandons someone who loves him. Maybe a little Brad Pitt outfit.

  She sprawled on her back, exhausted and kind of dizzy from the thirteen glasses of wine. She looked around the room, but didn’t really focus on anything except the walls. Three of the walls were painted white, the other was painted a particular shade of bright green known as “sour apple green.” It was the exact shade of green that Angela’s old rumpus room had been painted—back in her childhood home.

  How it got that color was an interesting story. When Angela remodeled her condo last month, her plan was to paint the den sour apple green—like her old rumpus room. But she quickly found out that all the paint manufacturers discontinued sour apple green in 1985. It drove Angela mad. She tried dozens of different shades—everything from lime green, watermelon rind green, chartreuse, neon green, bright olive, pistachio, but nothing was right. Even Lowe’s and Home Depot’s paint matching service came up with nothing. She was completely out of luck. Until she came across a half-dried-out can of sour apple green paint at a garage sale. She was overjoyed. There was only enough usable paint for one wall, but that was good enough for Angela.

  Angela slumped up against her one green wall and took a deep breath. The room was crowded with a bunch of her garage sale treasures, including an old barbecue set, a pile of stuffed animals, a big box full of handmade pillows, some “outsider art” (which was vaguely pornographic), and a stack of vintage board games. When she was a little girl, Angela would spend hours in her rumpus room playing games with her best friend, Barbara. Some of her favorites (which she recently tracked down at garage sales) included Cinnamon Avenue, Time the Task, Open Sesame, Whatever Will I Become (the career game), Brain Surgery (where you have to remove a brain clot, but if you hit the skull you get zapped), Bitin’ Gators, Triple the Danger, and Sugar Town. Angela loved the smell of these old games. Not all of them, of course. Many of the games reeked of mold and mildew and probably shouldn’t even be stored indoors for safety reasons, but the scent of the others instantly brought her back to her childhood, to Barbara, Cocoa the Cat, and even a kid named Dale Whittaker who she had a crush on.

  The one hole in her collection was a game called Pot o’ Gold—based on the old TV show. Angela used to love that show, and she and Barbara would watch reruns of it every day after school. Admittedly, both girls were a little scared of Uncle Angus (“the creepy leprechaun“).. Whenever he appeared on the screen, they used to hide behind the couch, cover their eyes with their hands, and peek at the TV—ready to block it out if the leprechaun got too scary.

  Good times.

  19. The Fenwick’s Garage

  Vicky Bell gave the Fenwicks until Monday to organize their stuff and move anything they didn’t want to sell into storage. The main part of the house was relatively easy to take care of since Doris was an exceptional housekeeper who kept the Fenwick homestead clean and orderly. Clayton made arrangements with a nursery in town to safeguard his moss collection, and Xavier helped his parents load some of the things they wanted to keep into a nearby humidity-controlled storage unit.

  But now, just a few days before Vicky Bell’s deadline, they had to tackle the biggest job. The garage.

  The structure in question was a large two car garage with a small makeshift attic. It was packed with stuff. Literally packed. Since they moved into the house 30 years ago, the Fenwicks got into the bad habit of dumping stuff into the garage that they weren’t sure they wanted to keep or toss. It was easier than making a decision.

  Clayton and Doris weren’t hoarders, per se. And the garage had enough space to hold Clayton’s old Cadillac Eldorado, but not much else. It was just a simple equation of 30 years times a couple of dozen items stowed in the garage every year. It worked out to hundreds of different things scattered throughout the garage.

  After puttering around for about a half hour, Clayton knew he needed to kick Xavier’s butt. That kid always had a lazy streak. “Okay, get over here. We’re going to tackle the work bench first.”

  “I was thinking about getting us some fish tacos at the place near the drug store.”

  “It’s only eleven o’clock. You can have lunch when we’ve made some progress.”

  “But, Pa, I’m hungry.”

  “Xavier, those people are going to be here on Thursday to put price tags on everything. Everything. If we don’t take out what we want, it’s going to be gone, so move it!”

  Xavier sighed. “You got too much crap here, pops. No one’s going to want any of this.”

  “You'd be surprised. I think we're going to make a mint. Now help me with this box.” They moved a large cardboard box full of Christmas stuff off the work bench, revealing a set of well-maintained, but barely used hand tools which hung on the back rack of the bench. Clayton picked up an old hammer and brought it to a hanging light to get a better look at it. After a moment, he turned to his son and presented the hammer to him with reverence. “I want you to have this—”

  “I have enough tools…”

  “Take it! When I'm dead, I want you to have something to remember me by.”

  “A hammer?”

  Clayton nodded. “Yes, a man can always use a good hammer.”

  Xavier considered the wisdom of his father’s words and then accepted the tool.

  As Clayton moved another set of boxes from the workbench, Xavier absent-mindedly began swinging the hammer like a weapon. Clayton picked up an old board game from the bench. The faded graphics on the box read “Pot o’ Gold.”

  Clayton smiled and opened the box. “Remember this leprechaun game? You used to love it.”

  “Huh?” Xavier was off in another part of the garage, opening a large metal cabinet which held musty clothes.

  Clayton flipped through the contents of the game box and pulled out a yellowed scoring pad which had a bunch of kids’ names scrawled on it. He recognized some of the names as Xavier’s little friends from middle school. One name in particular, stood out. “Paulie. What the hell was his last name? Little Paulie. With the lazy eye.”

  Xavier walked over to see what Clayton was up to. “Sorry, Pops. I don't remember any Paulie.”

  “Of course you do. He used to live where the Norberts live now. Little kid. Scrawny. Lazy eye. You and he used to be best friends when you were kids. I can't believe you don't remember Paulie—”

  “Are you thinking of Benny MacInnes? His family moved to Belgium or something when I was in 6th grade.”

  “I remember Benny MacInnes. I hated that kid. No, this was Paulie. What the devil was his last name? Always had that fairy haircut. Scrawny. Lazy eye. The two of you used to go out to Northbog Lake and catch frogs—” All of a sudden another memory came to Clayton. He went quiet…

  Xavier picked up on his dad’s silence. “What?”

  “Wasn't Paulie the kid that drowned?”

  Xavier’s eyes flashed. “I told you, Pops. I don't remember no Paulie. Okay? I really think you need to drop it. Can you do that for me?”

  Clayton threw the scoring pad back in the box and put the game ov
er in the “sell” pile. It was best not to antagonize Xavier when he was in one of his ‘moods.’ A guy could get hurt that way.

  20. The Importance of Order

  Doris and Vicky sat at the kitchen table and discussed next week’s sale.

  “The key is Order,” said Vicky. “Order is my guiding principle.”

  “Order? What does that mean? If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Not at all.” Vicky took a bite of her apricot crumble. “I don’t want to get too woo-woo here, but basically the universe is divided up into forces of Order and Chaos.”

  Doris smiled and nodded, even though she had no idea what Vicky was talking about.

  “Chaos is the absence of order. It’s like—” Vicky paused for a second, lost in thought. But just for a second. “It’s like when you’re in the parking lot of Shop-Mart and a shopping cart rolls into your car. Bang!” She clapped her hands for emphasis—which startled Doris. “That’s Chaos. It’s random. Uncontrolled. And usually not good. The opposite is Order. Organization. Like when the shopping carts are all in line in those little corrals in the parking lot. They’re not rolling willy-nilly and smacking into people…”

  “A place for everything and everything in its place,” Doris quoted.

  “Exactly!”

  “But what does that mean for our sale?” asked Doris.

  “I’m glad you asked, Mrs. Fenwick. This is really where my expertise comes in. If someone tries to conduct an estate sale—”

  “Garage sale!” Clayton bellowed from the other room, where he was supposed to be napping.

  Vicky continued her thought—but she spoke in a lower tone of voice. “If someone tries to conduct a garage sale without knowing what they are doing, well—I shudder to think.”

  “Oh my!”

  “That’s right. People running around, crowding your house. Fighting…”

  “Fighting?”

  Vicky nodded. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Last week, a woman lost an eye fighting over a tea cozy. Literally poked right out. Not at one of my sales, of course.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “You’re telling me. But that’s exactly what could happen if Chaos is allowed to come in the front door—along with all those buyers,” said Vicky.

  “But how can we—?”

  “I have it all under control. What I do is make everyone line up outside. Nice and orderly. Then we only let a few people in at a time.” Vicky looks around the house. “What is this? 2,200 square feet?”

  “2,400.” Doris replied.

  “Well, I’d say no more than twenty, twenty five people in at any one time.” Vicky took a sip of her tea. “As I mentioned, we’ll have a few rooms sealed off from the public. We’ll cover those nice hardwood floors with protective paper. We’ll have tags on everything. No tag, no sale—that’s my motto.”

  “Sounds wise.”

  “My girl Stacey will be in the main part of the house. Josh will be in the garage. And I will be at the register on the front porch—checking everyone out.”

  “That does sound organized,” said Doris.

  Vicky leaned over and patted the other woman’s hand. “Mrs. Fenwick, although I might look young, I have been doing this for a long time. A long, long time.”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re here, Ms. Bell.”

  “Thank you, dear. Now Stacey and her team will be here on Monday to price everything—so please make sure all your personal items are put away. Especially Mr. Fenwick’s ferns…”

  “They’re mosses, actually.”

  “Mosses. Good. And remember: ordo ab chao.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “It’s Latin, dear. Order from Chaos. Words to live by.”

  21. Uncle Angus!

  After a morning recording session at Hellaballu (for a new medication called “Rikastasinol”), Dick decided to treat himself to some fresh salmon from the Pike Place Market—which was just a healthy stroll north on 1st Avenue. He walked at a leisurely pace, noticing the banners for that new Otto Pfeiffer exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum. As he walked, Dick felt the reassuring weight of his Jardine lamp in the knapsack. He squinted and allowed his eyes to focus on a street sign across the street. Still sharp as ever.

  As he was crossing the street to the west side of 1st Avenue, a trio of shrieks accosted his ear drums.

  “Pottogold! Pottogold!” They seemed to be saying.

  Before he knew it, Dick was surrounded by a group of young Japanese tourists—mostly teen girls—who screamed and carried on like he was Paul McCartney on the Ed Sullivan Show.

  “You Uncle Angus!” one of the girls cried in heavily-accented English. “Leprechaun!”

  Dick regained his composure and smiled at his fans. “That’s me all right, but that was a long time ago.”

  The girls began speaking to one another in Japanese, at the same time jumping up and down and hugging Dick. He noticed that one of the girls wore a t-shirt with a cartoon “Uncle Angus” design on it rendered in the same colorful style as a Hello Kitty cartoon.

  After a long session of photos, videos, and autographs (and even an impromptu iPhone voice message of “Begorrah!”) the girls politely took their leave and Dick proceeded onwards to Pike Place Market, shaking his head in wonder all the while.

  22. Something in Store

  Since she didn’t have to work that evening, Angela decided to spend the day downtown. She did a little window shopping downtown and soon found herself at Moddities—where her obsession with antiques first began.

  Inside, Helen (the owner she knew) was talking to a 30-something customer dressed in torn jeans and a suede jacket. The guy was looking at some vintage plastic storage units. Angela waved at Helen and moved a little closer to eavesdrop on what the guy was saying.

  The guy flipped over a price tag. “Your price for these Kartoffel cubes is a bit high.”

  “Well, those are originals. Did you notice how yellowed they are?” Helen replied. “It takes 30 years to get that patina.”

  “Uh huh.” The customer seemed disinterested. “Do you have any board games? Like, old board games.”

  Angela noticed that the guy never looked at Helen when he spoke. She vaguely remembered reading that lack of eye contact meant something, but she couldn’t remember what. Helen didn’t seem to mind, though.

  “Yes, we have a number of games from the 60s and 70s. Sugar Town. Brain Surgery—”

  “I'm looking for the Pot o’ Gold game,” the guy said (and that really caught Angela’s attention). “My friend Yukio really wants one.”

  Helen considered for a minute. “I think we had a couple of those last year. Is that the one with the popper dome?”

  “No, no. Pot o’ Gold. Like the TV show,” the guy snapped. “Never mind!” He sighed and stormed out, pushing past Angela.

  “Well someone was a grumpy gus, huh?” Helen said with a smile.

  “Yeah, definitely some issues going on there,” Angela replied. She was about to ask Helen more about the games, but a harvest gold flour tin caught her eye. My god—it looks exactly like the one mom used when she baked sugar cookies…

  23. Boggie

  Every once in a while Ed got a chance to play hooky from work. And today was one of those days. Right at noon, he left a Post-It Note on his dark computer screen saying that he would be out researching new creatures for the game’s expansion pack and then made his escape from the Macrondo Software campus.

  The fantasy video game he and his team had been designing for the past 22 months wasn’t even released yet, but they were already planning the sequel (or “expansion pack,” as it was called in the industry). And it was plausible that Ed might head out to the library or somewhere to research mythological creatures to include in the game.

  Truth be told, Ed was doing some research on monsters, but it wasn’t for the game. It was to satisfy his own personal curiosity.

  He pulled up in front of a compact Greek Revival style building in downtown
Bogwood. This was the Bogwood Historical Society and Ed had an appointment with none other than the town historian Mr. Malcolm Urnbaden.

  A small man with glasses—a Mr. Leung, the assistant town historian, greeted him with some bad news. Mr. Urnbaden had been detained in the state capitol on government business, and would have to reschedule. “Unless there’s something I can help you with?” Mr. Leung asked.

  “How much do you know about Native American folklore?” asked Ed.

  “Some, but I’m no expert,” said Mr. Leung. “Though indigenous peoples are a big part of our culture here. Maybe we should sit down…”

  Ed followed Mr. Leung to a small office adorned with 19th century photos of the region and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. After a few more pleasantries, Ed got right down to business. “I’m researching Okonopo. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Mr. Leung smiled and walked over to the bookshelves. “That I do know something about. Okonopo or ‘great-spirit-in-the-lake’ in the language of the Snosnupawamish tribe is a very intriguing legend around these parts.” He searched the shelves for a particular volume as he spoke. “As you know, the Snosnupawamish people were the original inhabitants of the Bogwood area and dwelt in longhouses on the shores of Lake Bogwood.”

  “Uh huh.” Just about anyone who lived in Bogwood for any length of time was familiar with the massive Snosnupawamish Resort & Casino on the north end of Lake Bogwood. The Snosnupawamish Tribe was also regularly in the news because of clashes with recreational fisherman on the lake whom the tribe accused of poaching on their territory. Occasionally these clashes got serious and a few times some unlucky fisherman had to be airlifted to the emergency room with a nasty harpoon wound. Ed could certainly sympathize with the Snosnupawamish people. After all they did have their entire culture decimated, their land stolen by the white man, and were now reduced to selling fireworks and running multi-billion dollar gambling enterprises. That’s enough to make anyone cranky. Still Ed was eager to hear more about Okonopo. Luckily, Mr. Leung found the book he was looking for.