Typical Day
Things are starting to hum in the days leading up to the spring auction at Deelzen-Steele's Auction House. Auctioneer Milo Minute is striding around the warehouse, making sure everything is ready for the auction preview.
Prospective bidders will be arriving in a few days for a sneak peek before the big show. For three hours, the room will be full of customers busily wielding measuring tapes, squinting into jeweler's loupes, and checking tables for wobbly legs. Deelzen-Steele's encourages customers to attend these previews, because all items are sold "as is," meaning "no backsies"—all scratches, cracks, and bullet holes are the buyer's problem.
Everything looks pretty good, but Milo's sharp eyes pick up a few issues, like chewing gum under a vintage school desk (some things never change) and a blinking light bulb near the podium. He motions for a staging assistant and points out these issues to her. If it doesn't look good, it doesn't sell, and Deelzen-Steele's hasn't made its reputation by having low standards. This year's auction will be the usual consignment mix—furniture, clothing and bric-a-brac from the estates of dead relatives, a bunch of submissions from local dealers, and a few pieces of nice (and not so nice) artwork.
Ah, speaking of hideous artwork....
"Angel, can you come here a second?"
Angel Deelzen, a burly linebacker, puts down a bottle of Windex and walks over. "Yeah, Mr. M.?"
"We're going to need a really sturdy table near the microphone. Something strong enough to hold Lot 144."
"We've got a solid one in the back that should work. But...what is that thing?"
"Experimental piece...solid bronze. The title is, 'Platypus Rampant.' It's a reproduction from the 1950s. The sculptor went mad, afterwards. Justifiably, in my opinion."
"Ohhhh...I thought it was a duck. What do you think it'll go for?"
"Well, the reserve is $800, so that's the minimum Howie will accept. I tried to talk him down a little, but he insisted that it's a priceless artifact which has been in the Mutch family for generations. I'm hoping the Marsupial Institute will make an offer...they need something for the flipper exhibit. But we may have a bidding war on our hands if Howie's cousin Grabbie shows up. She's mad that Howie inherited the sculpture instead of her."
Milo steps into the back office, and writes a few notes before he forgets. There should be a stack of auction catalogs at the front table, in case anybody forgot theirs. Most catalogs were mailed two months ago, containing a detailed description of each lot number. Milo prides himself on his professional services, and he loves to create Deelzen-Steele's glossy, full-color catalogs. He's also working with a software company to create a Deelzen-Steele's app. When it's finished, the app will offer interactive catalogs with item numbers linking to the live bid website.
Ah, another item for the to-do list—check the live feed cameras focused on the auction area. Last year there was a fingerprint on the right-hand camera, and Miss Trunchbull really chewed him out because she couldn't clearly see the riding crop she was bidding on from home.
For the most part, though, customers have been pleased with the live streaming auction. And what's not to love? They can bid in real-time with other auction-goers, and save gas at the same time! Or airplane miles...Deelzen-Steele's attracts bidders from across the globe, including a scientist in Antarctica who stumbled upon auction ads on a snowshoe hobbyist blog.
Milo leans back in his seat and stretches. He likes to count by 50s when he does this...he can usually get to 500 or so in no time flat. Backwards is a little more difficult, but not much...this stuff is second nature to him. In fact, his wife sometimes complains that he mutters number drills in his sleep. Other times, she jokes that it's the only time she can get a word in edgewise. But that's not true. Mostly.
Every now and then, Milo also likes to run through the old exercises from his salad days. "Theophilus Thistle, the Thistle Sifter" was always his favorite, just because it's so deeply weird. Who comes up with this stuff, anyway? And did they ever get any credit for it?
Credit...Milo grabs his pencil, and writes another note. The credit machine has been acting up a bit, and he needs to remind the cashier to bring her credit card reader in case anything goes on the fritz.
When the to-do list is done, Milo drops his pencil, chugs a bottle of room-temperature water, and heads to the store to pick up a new filter for his humidifier. Time to pamper that money-making voice!