Flea Markets are interesting places.

This past Saturday I went with my dad and uncle to the nearby flea market that has taken over what used to be a massive hardware store.

If you have never been to a flea market, I will have you know that you can find ANYTHING, literally anything, at this type of market.

The idea is much like having a ton of garage sales all crammed under one roof. There are booths run by different individuals who come back every week to that same booth to peddle their wares. And their wares range from VHS players to bicycles to magazines to candy. Yes, people sell food in this place.

The smell of a flea market is much like that of your attic or crawlspace, if there had been a hobo living in it for the past few years. Like when you find a box of newspapers in your closet, for example, and you get the stagnant odor of old paper and possibly mold. That is just one of many stenches you will encounter at the local flea market.

Much like a garage sale, you encounter the types of people who attend garage sales. If you have had a garage sale, you know what I mean. You could live in the richest of suburban neighborhoods in the yuppiest of communities and you would still encounter the type of people who scour the newspaper listings for garage sales, hoping to find a non-functional fondue set from 1976 to make those summer driveway BBQs on mismatched lawn chairs that much more classy. Or the type of person who finds your how-did-I-end-up-with-this Budweiser bar mirror the most treasured find of all their hunting.

After visually assessing the surroundings of the flea market, I wondered to myself, then aloud to my uncle and father "Which is worse/creepier/seedier: the people who work at the flea market, or the people who frequent the flea market?" Then, after making a decision, I posed the next question "Are they worse/creepier/seedier than carnies?"

Several booths caught my eye. And when I say booths, I really just mean squares drawn with masking tape on the floor that divide the each vendor's property from the next. Although, about 80% choose to supply a tent or curtains of some sort to block sight of neighboring sellers. Many vendors are the type of people who couldn't work a normal sales job. By this, I mean that they sit watching a TV (for sale!) playing an old DVD of Full House episodes (also for sale!) with absolutely no interest in trying to get you to buy anything. Their signs, which are black sharpie scrawled on torn pieces of cardboard, exclaim GREAT DEAL!!! and ONLY ONE DOLLAR!!! You wonder if the people running the booth are the same excited people who created those hopeful signs. Their facial expression is apathy, without a care to be there or sell goods. At this point, right now, their only thought is focusing on merely existing, to just being there and breathing.

Other vendors, however, take it to the next level. One in particular, let's call him Cowboy Ned, with his grey ZZ Top beard falling over his shirt and cutoff jean shorts (for sale?) , was sleeping. My dad and uncle looked over some things of his, like some mechanical doodad (for sale!) that only dads and uncles know what it could possibly be used for since they probably had six of them in their house in 1961. We picked things up, looked them over, and put them back down again, all without a stir from Cowboy Ned, who uncomfortably slumped in his metal chair with nothing to lean his head on.

That's another thing. There is so much junk and distraction that you could be looking at stuff in a booth and not even realize that you are standing right next to the vendor. It is as though they lurk in the shadows and pounce when you least expect. Some human-like things like dolls and mannequins start to make you edgy, when you begin to wonder if that doll in the corner is going to start trying to sell you some belt buckles made out of lead.

At one point in our shopping excursion, we passed by a man playing some indistinguishable tunes on his guitar, while a woman danced. The woman, possibly pushing 100 years old, was wearing a flowing multicolored dress and a red cowboy hat (for sale!) and moving off-beat to the guitar strums as she greeted passing customers with "Hello!" "How do you do!" and "Good evening!" It should be noted that it was noon.

The things people are selling, and the quantities in which they are selling them, are unimaginable. You have not one, not two, but 60 pairs of gardening gloves? How did you come across that many? Did you collect them? Who collects gardening gloves? Some people don't just sell old things that they found in their basement, their attic, the garbage cans, or other garage sales, but instead sell NEW things. Not good quality new things, but knockoffs of new things. Like "Nicke" shoes and "Calvin Cline" underwear. Again, in cases like these it is best to not ask questions.

You wonder if the $100 mattresses sold by vendor D-6 are the reason why the market is in fact called a "flea" market. After seeing so many things of weird origin, and metal objects like knives intended for food use that probably contain unimaginable amounts of lead, my mind wanders to the horrific and maybe not-so-unlikely origins of these things. I turn to my dad and say that if you committed a crime, this would be the easiest place to get rid of evidence. Cash exchange, object never to be seen again. What are those, some bloodstained leather gloves? For only $2? I'll take 'em!

One vendor is even selling Thin Mint cookies. In jest, my dad says we should look for the hidden Girl Scout's body. A joke with serious afterthoughts.

Speaking of food, the Flea Market even has a food court in the back, selling the type of food you'd see at a movie theater or skating rink. Soft pretzels, popcorn and hot dogs are some of the many unhealthy options offered. As we walk past, a man walks up to the cashier and says "Now, did I hear you announce this morning that you were having $2 burgers for lunch?" One might ignore such a comment until you think about it little more in depth: how long has this man been here? He says "this morning" as though it were more than an hour ago. Has he been waiting all morning for flea market burgers? Considering that entering the flea market costs $1, could he possibly have paid that dollar to have access to flea market burgers? How good could flea market burgers possibly be? What kind of meat are those burgers? Where IS that girl scout?!

Female writers are ugly

This is hilarious.