GARBAGE PICNIC ESPAÑOLA

although its posted hours do include thursday mornings after ten, the bicicleteria wasn’t open this morning when i went with hopes of getting a coffee and the low down on the wi-fi situation for club members -- and also maybe on the situation with the apartment upstairs. then again, neither had either of the bars that we wanted to check out been open when we visited them last night, so i’d already decided to expect a shuttered entryway. what was this, though, that was blocking traffic up and down three blocks of calle feria and into the plaza next to the dia supermarket?!? no! could it possibly…?

a huge neighborhood yarsel! complete with old typewriters and televisions, vhs camcorders and cassettes, and furniture and glassware that surely looked better inside of whatever apartment it came from than it did out on the street next to all the piles of trash. oh the irony of having given all of ours away that we couldn’t sell at our own garbage picnic just to have enough to scrape by, to look at all of the wonderful things on offer at this new world yarsel but not to buy.

and what a land of plenty. every rusticated iron key and pre-euro coin on the continent must have been on those tables and blankets, just waiting for the right aspiring jeweler to remove them to brooklyn. and you know that you’ve wanted a gaudy wooden crucifix ever since you saw the robin williams version of “the bird cage.” well you’d have had your pick of dozens. and novelty key rings, vintage photographs and sun faded posters announcing bygone bullfights and ferias. no, i don’t have forty-five euro to pay for that poster if it isn’t sold. but how am i supposed to look at them if i can’t leaf through them? i was, however, respectful of the event and just waved my hand not with a dumb, happy grin.

the stuff was good but not necessarily cheap. still, i managed to find a rusted old key for just a euro, which was three or five times less than most of them were going for (the yarselers here seem know their business and their customers well). i can only imagine what the key was for, but i did appreciate imagining as i handed over my one euro coin to the man behind the table: it would be the first key i’d have of my own since leaving those to the old apartment and my bike lock back west and selling nearly everything else. and i let myself entertain the thought that the man had given me a special price so that he could make this one special sale that would let him share in a special moment with a hopeful stranger. then i took my key and walked away down the block and stepped in some shit.

if the man with the posters could have seen, i’ll bet he was laughing.