When Tasha, Elin, and I pulled up to the antique shop on St. George Blvd., we expected cheap prices and a proprietor who was truly wanting to sell, sell, sell.
The front door was plastered with handwritten signs in spidery script: "Cash ONLY" and "Only open from 1:30-5:30pm." And once we opened the door and walked across the threshold, we found ourselves stuck between display cases and piles touching the ceiling and in a traffic jam with other customers. The proprietor barked at us to place our big gulps on the counter. And a customer whispered to us, "Have you ever seen that show Hoarders?" I snorted.
But it was true. We were experiencing the life of an "antique" hoarder firsthand and it was like nothing I had ever seen.
The stuff just went on and on and on and on. Not only was it impossible to actually figure out what was in those piles, but the prices were also ridiculously expensive. This woman had no intention of selling her stuff, even though she told Tasha that she was slowly selling things.
We really spent most of our time trying to find light switches to the maze of rooms and then gasping when the contents of each room was revealed.
I seriously believed that the proprietor would pop up from behind one of the piles, scaring the bejeezus out of us and pointing a long, arthritic finger in our direction because she had been eavesdropping on our snickering and gossiping about her not-so-dirty secret.
But she didn't--for which I am glad. I wouldn't have captured this video otherwise.
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