We have an auction house in our tiny little town. I have heard much about it: one of my friends purchased a wonderful white wardrobe, the other an old-school bicycle, and even our student newspaper dedicated half a page to the institution. Yet, despite having lived here for three years now, I have never been there myself. Over the years I not only felt a nagging fear of missing out on one of those special "auction-house"-experiences that become a synonym for your student life, but lately the pressing need of owning a working bicycle made it very clear that a visit can no longer be postponed.
So, my summer flatmate and I set out to find the old warehouse where the auctions are to be held. Little did we know that we would spend the next hour or so looking at the most random and obscure items one could imagine: from smelly refrigerators, real wood furniture and lawnmowers, to African masks, beautiful tea sets, and extravagant jewellery - there is nothing that cannot be found. The heart of any modern day collector would surely skip a beat from all the excitement. At least mine did when I saw the purple women's bike that I placed my bid on. Fingers crossed it will be mine soon.
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