Friday: Wash, Rinse, Repeat

My day started without a word from the guy who sold me the counterfeit cards, so I decided to go on offense. Instead of calling his cell and leaving voice mails, at 8:00 in the morning, I called his hotel and asked the clerk to ring his room phone. I woke him up and eventually got him to commit to meet me in the convention center cafeteria at noon to refund my money. More on that later.

Friday at the show basically was a rerun of Thursday: up, over, in, dig. The only variation was that I skipped breakfast and ate jerky and nuts instead. I wanted to try the Korean stand for lunch, I wasn’t that hungry, and the idea of another $30 hotel breakfast just pissed me off. Good plan: the Koreans stand was really good, totally credible. When I asked for chop sticks and gochujang sauce, the counter guy said: “Oh, you’re an expert.” I said: “No, just from Los Angeles. I eat Korean BBQ at least once a week.”

As soon as the doors opened, I made a beeline for The Table and ran through more boxes, this time 1970s sports as I was trying to complete at least a few resale sets as I had planned. I knocked off 1977 Star Wars series 1 and 3, and got down to one card from a nm-mt or better 1973-74 hockey: Ken Dryden. I also dug out some singles for other projects. Why such mundane stuff, you may wonder? Hand-assembling a set of cards with a matching look just has to be hands-on. I’ve tried mail order to fill in and it doesn’t work. Plus, the shipping costs just kill you.

While I was sitting there, whoever was manning the PA for the promoters announced that they were going to let in general admissions at 9:30 instead of 10:00. Apparently, the line was wrapped around the entire center and they were afraid of a 1991 Anaheim situation. Great, I paid $199 for a lounge with no refreshments and a one-hour lead that has been cut in half to thirty minutes. Do I get half my money back? I am holding my breath starting now.

One of my deals lately is motor sports. I watched the F1 series “Drive To Survive” on Netflix and was intrigued, but the F1 car has left the pit, so to speak, so I looked around and decided to get into Indy Car and NASCAR as cards from the two that have yet to take off. Both have TV series now that are very much akin to DTS, and both have vintage and modern card sets, so the rockets are on the launch pads. I’ve learned a lot about each in card terms. There isn’t much material at the show, practically none. In some ways that is a good sign; it means that these areas haven’t caught fire yet. Anyhow, back to The Table. I asked for racing stuff; they said they had none, except some pubs. I took a look.

I have been collecting material on Mauri Rose. He won Indy three times and is in various card sets. He was also on the cover of the post-race magazine Indianapolis Race History in 1947 and 1948. I found the 1947 in the bin. A few minutes later the guy standing next to me handed me the 1948 from his bin. And apologized. He was the guy who tried to yank the box out from my hands the day before. Turns out to be a pretty decent guy who’d just gotten tired and bit too competitive.

I dig through the postcards again in the infamous corner of confrontation in the booth back. As I am shuffling boxes I notice that there is a show case under the stacks. They hid a showcase. I had to have a look because I would be drummed out of the picker union if I skipped it. I made them move the boxes; I’m crazy, not stupid.

I found a small stack of Indy 500 tickets and passes, and some pit badges on original backings. Old ones. Imperfect information takes hold again; they were priced at a fraction of value. I picked up two with meaning, a Mauri Rose win year and a 1958, which was AJ Foyt’s Indy debut. There were a few more I did not pick up. After some research after hours, I decided to go back and get them. May as well clean out the honey pot.

At high noon, I went to the cafeteria to confront the counterfeit seller. As I mentioned before, the guy was such a grinder that he wore me down on Tuesday night and I missed the bad cards as a result. He tried it again, pulling all sorts of junk that I’d already seen from his bag and talking up the values based on what someone allegedly told him on the show floor. It was ten minute firehose stream of bullshit worthy of a used car salesman. That is his brilliance: he sounds like someone who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground when you start up but he goes so long that you eventually invest so much time in the negotiations that you move towards his position just to get a deal done; he’s a devious one that way.

I refused to play along. I turned down all the items, refused to engage in the stories, and refocused repeatedly on the issue with the cards. Pretty much the same pattern I use to confront a difficult witness. Eventually, and I could see it in his eyes, he realized that he had to cut the blather and give me a refund. First, he made me explain in detail what was wrong with each card, which I did, and he had me repeat it several times while he wrote it down, which I did. When he finally cracked open the fanny pack and pulled out a stack of cash the size of the budget of a small African nation, he practically cried. I handed over the cards for the cash and he whined: “What I am supposed to do with these now?” It took all my self-control not to say: “That’s a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.”

He still took a psychological price out of me for the refund; he refused to tell me where a dealer he mentioned was located. Instead, he insisted on going there with me. Great, now I have Waldo for a wingman.

We went over there and I was trying to discuss the nonsports market with the dealer while this exasperating pain in my ass made annoying, nonsequitur comments on the side. My mother used to do that but she had dementia. It was all I could do not to shout: “Will you shut the fuck up, you annoying sombitch!” I finally ditched him when I left the table by telling him that I was going back to the Hilton to take a dump; I knew he wouldn’t follow me back for that.

By 2:00, I was burned out. I left the show and decided to confront my worst dilemma: how to get all of this shit home. I flew with a carry-on and I had some room but not enough for a foot-high stack of cards. After much tinkering and cursing, I got it all packed but something had to give. In this case, it was socks. I bring my old socks and underwear to shows so I could ditch them if needed. It was. I better tip the maid; she’s taking my dirty socks to the trash.

I also had to go back to the show and find some postcard sleeves. One of the subjects of the big pick was Dodgers postcards. Believe it or not, there are still regional variations in pricing, and I have discovered that LA stuff is cheaper elsewhere. I pulled a stack of postcards, including a few I’d never seen before. I put them into sleeves instead of the Card Saver IVs they came in, just to save space. My carry-on is busting at the seams but I got everything in there. And in my backpack. And my CPAP machine case. Whatever I buy Saturday is going to have to go in my pockets, I guess.

Anyhow, I am wheels up tomorrow afternoon. To all who’ve been at the show, have a safe trip home. Me, I arrive in LA Saturday night and I am planning to get up at 4:00 Sunday to hit a flea market. We’ll see…