Fear And Loathing At Auction

You could bid on THIS tonight!

Seeing the degree to which some young people rely on faux playful Swedish monoliths for their decoration one might assume that there exists no affordable secondary market for cool furniture. Or perhaps that one exists, but is limited to beer stained and tobacco scented overstuffed sofas peddled at slightly sad and sparsely stocked yard and street sales or craigslist. Not the case my friend.

Direct Auction Galleries has been housed in the same surprisingly large, unobtrusive building at 7232 N Western in Rogers Park for almost a half century now. It's a place best heard about through overexcited friends. Our (misleading) introduction had promised dank grittiness, seedy Fincheresque back alleys, Fight Club but with more oriental rugs. We were Jack's floor to ceiling walnut bureau.

“Fincheresque” turns out to be a terrible description, although Direct Auction is heavy on the “clubbiness”, it's pretty light on blood and anarchy and exposed fluorescence. Walking in you have an immediate and powerful sensation of being the new kid at camp. The majority of people there are repeat customers, many customers repetitions being older than you are. Familiarity oozes in every direction. Sweatshirts, caps, and mustaches predominate, it's a fairly blue collar looking crowd, with self-conscious bourgeois predators like ourselves silently prowling the edges searching for cool bargains. Not that there are less or more of either crowd, and the balance begins to even as the night goes on.

It's striking how often you hear calls of “hey” and “how'ya doin'”. You want to belong here, and as friendly and talkative as everyone is, you sense that really belonging would take some time. The crowd mills about, two and three person conversations abound, its size changing with new arrivals and people stepping out for cigarette and cigar breaks in the front parking lot.

The auction starts slowly, up at the front of the room. Conversations persist in the back, not especially secretly, running commentaries on prices or quality of items. Find someone talkative (easy) and knowledgeable (also easy, as maybe 70% of the regulars have a professional stake in buying or resale) and park near them. Then shut up, learn.

Coats, coins, small items go first. Commentaries disappear as people get engaged, the game is on. Huge half century old display cases go for just over a hundred dollars. Same with cabinets too large to fit in your apartment anyway. It's hard to not grieve over how much cool stuff is getting away from you just because you have neither the money, lifestyle or space for it. At some point the evening gets away from everyone, conversations are gone, all the focus is on the auctioneer's machine gun delivery, there are no pauses between buys, the machine is fully in gear.

You emerge, the auction over. It isn't that late but you feel tired. With shaking hands you light a cigarette. Drawing in a deep drag, you turn to the group of walrus mustachioed Bears sweatshirt wearing teamster types.

“Was it good for you too?” you ask.

This is returned with blank stares. No matter, you think, you'll come back to the next auction, and the one after that, and after that.

Eventually, they will come to accept and understand you.

Maybe you should grow a mustache.

Auction tonight, November 30, at Direct Auction Galleries, 7232 N Western, 3 p.m. - 11p.m. Can't make it? Don't worry, they have auctions about every two weeks.