When I arrived in the building where they were holding the card show on Sunday, I wasn't wearing a lab coat. I wasn't carrying a clipboard. I wasn't wearing glasses. And I didn't ask anyone to "tell me how you feel." But I definitely felt like a psychiatrist during my card transactions, because the dealers were in a venting mood. They always seem like the anxious, nervous sort, but they seemed even more anxious-er and nervous-er than usual. One dealer that I always go to totaled up my cards, gave me a price, gave me a bag and then walked away without taking my money. (Don't worry, I flagged him down). One dealer moaned endlessly about the economy and thanked the Lord above that he wasn't relying on his card sales to feed his family. One dealer told me it was the worst October show he'd ever been to in years and years of going to October shows. Then he told me a happy story about getting two flat tires on two separate occasions on the way to one of...
Up all hours talking baseball, cardboard & collecting