A virgin vendor visits the flea market

Recently, I stared at my jam-packed, overflowing book shelves and wondered if any of those good reads I was ready to part with might sell at the flea market.
One morning soon after, I rose at 5:30 a.m. in the pitch black of a cold Nov. 6, the last day before the end of daylight savings time. It promised to be dark until past 8 a.m. Dressed in long johns and thick layers with apron pockets holding $100 in change, and my 75 books categorized by topic, I felt fully prepared.
With my pal Deb Cloer’s instructions, I found the Jamestown Flea Market office tucked behind several buildings off Jamestown Road. A nice woman assigned me a great corner location, though it took a while to find it in the dark.
At 7:30 under the stars, the wood tables sparkled with frost. I tried wiping them with a towel, but the ice was hard as diamonds. My first misgivings intruded. Not many of the other sellers had arrived. A woman offering pocketbooks and accessories close by generously loaned me a cloth table cover as the one I brought wasn’t big enough. Deb arrived to help ,and we scraped the frost off, then began setting up, probably too early. The tables dampened with rising dew requiring books be dried off again with towels.
A set of tables on the opposite corner displayed a clever anti-frost method of waterproof coverings over wood frames. Chains and padlocks bolted the tarps around the merchandise underneath. When the sellers arrived, they swept off the frost and carefully removed all the tarps, frames, and covers exposing neat stacks of T-shirts and sweatshirts emblazoned with Confederate flags and eagles. The couple had trays of rings, and baby onesies reading, “I’m too sexy for my diaper.”
Finally full daylight emerged along with more vendors and a few shoppers braving the cold. Deb and I took turns warming up in my minivan.
Deb suggested asking $1 for hardbacks and 50 cents for paperbacks, which was, of course, far less than I thought the fabulous books were worth, but I bowed to her wisdom.
One shopper asked if I had any of the Left Behind series.
“Oh, I’m sorry, no I don’t.”
Another asked for Love Inspired Christian romance novels. She added, “They have a Bible verse in the front.”
None of them either, sadly.
A girl in a blue satin jacket asked if I had any books about Molly Morgan.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“She lived in a cave a long time ago. I just wanted to read about her.”
I started getting a feel for how the day was going to go. Deb had rented a table with me and brought DVDs, colorful baskets of throat lozenges and chewing gum packs to sell, things people actually needed or wanted. She sold out of shaving cream and had to get more.
Images from the day: a thin guy with dreads toted an empty baby carrier to the parking lot. Lots of young people strolled by in flip-flops, jeans and T-shirts, no coats in the freezing weather. One guy wore a jacket painted with a skeleton graphic.
By 9:30, I had sold three Stephen Kings, one Joan Medlicott and an Orson Scott Card.
Later, the T-shirt seller from the opposite corner bought two of my Realms of Fantasy magazines and six suspense thrillers and mysteries for Christmas presents. I had two hardback novels I refused to sell for a measly dollar, and she bought one of those: Dan Brown’s latest for $5, and I threw in a souvenir travel book from Washington D.C. with pictures of buildings central to the tale’s plot.
I sold the nonfiction Gangs of New York and an O. Henry short story collection to a woman who liked history. She said, “I don’t like novels. I wish I did; I know there are some good stories.”
My story ends this way: After paying $5 for renting a table, I netted the grand total of $23.50 from books.
The T-shirt sellers said the grinding cold kept people away adding, “This has been the worst day of the year.”
My car thermometer read 47 degrees that afternoon on the way to town. I went straight to Habitat Restore and donated the rest of the books.

Gwen Veazey is a member of the Morganton Writers’ Group.