Today when I went to work, I parked on the street next to an antique shop, well actually several of them. And because I usually park by a church, I never walk by these quaint little shops in downtown Salt Lake, but today I was running late and had no choice but to find the first available spot. After walking the block or so to my office I was surprised to see that it was dark, cold and empty. I just kept thinking, "did I miss something?", so I walked back out to my car. On the way there I saw the cutest little typewriter sitting outside one of the shops, so I decided to go in.

I was absolutely in awe of how much junk was in there. I mean, I had been in antique and consignment shops before but this was like grandma's house times 1000. There were toys and things everywhere. It kinda felt like I had just walked into the Twilight Zone. It got extra weird when I couldn't SEE anyone anywhere in the small store and then out of nowhere a little voice said 'hello'. I didn't know who it was and even after shifting a few steps forward then backward, I still couldn't see anyone. I just kept looking around trying to find a face to connect with the voice. Behind a big counter, through all of the hanging mardi gras beads and faux pearls and gold chains and the makeshift shelf full of only God knows what, I finally saw two tiny eyes and a fluff of white hair. A little old woman was sitting there--alone, in a hot pink sweatshirt with a butterfly pin on her make-believe lapel.

My first thought was, why does this store sell trash and do they really make a profit from it? Followed immediately by, what if I was trying to rob this woman? She wouldn't stand a chance against anyone or anything. I probably could have gone to the cash register, pulled it out, pushed her down and walked right out before she could get up and call the police.

I really couldn't tell exactly why there was so much useless stuff that no one would ever buy, but I guess it was a antique toy and specialty shop because there were hoards of trains and books and little figurines and dolls. I was actually surprised and delighted to see a cabinet full of "Little People", the old school kind that I loved as a child. I'm not sure that these are antiques --yet. I'm only 23 after all, but they even had the Little People cow, my favorite. I wandered around for a few minutes and couldn't figure out how this store remained open. I mean our economy is struggling enough as it is, people can barely afford necessities, so why would anyone buy old, asbestos ridden toys?
I don't think that I can stress enough how there were piles of things everywhere. No real organization, though things were grouped together as best they could be. I was kind of creeped out when I saw a shelf full of "colored" figures and memorabilia. I wasn't sure if these people were racist and still believed in segregation ( keep them away from the 'other' toys!) or if they thought that people really collected these things and would pay good money for such items. The only thing I could think of was this. Maybe they would want this stuff.

I soon found a huge Ziploc bag full of old photos. The woman told me I could take them out and spread them out to look at them, so I did. I spent almost a solid hour looking at photos of complete strangers.

I could not get over the fact that the people in these photos once (or maybe still do) had lives that were documented so carefully and now they were in an antique shop being sold for 50 cents each. The old woman asked me if I collected old photos. I said no, and then asked her why anybody would unless it was part of their geneaology. She said that sometimes people see a photo in the stack that reminds them of someone they knew and so they buy it. I thought that was weird, even though I was putting photos aside that I liked for one reason or another.

I ended up buying eight small photos. Two had the same mother and son in them but in different clothing. One was a baby picture with writing on the back. One was a couple in a new Ford convertible. Three were of the same woman in different settings with different expressions. And the last one was of a woman holding a baby in her two-piece bathing suit that was dated Feb. 1948.
I don't know exactly what I will do with them, probably just hold on to them for creative purposes. But it's kind of unsettling that I have a personal item and don't know who they belonged to. Here is one of the pictures I bought today. She is sitting on a piece of torn cardboard on a roof.

I'll probably go back to that store soon. I want that old typewriter, maybe I'll buy more photos of the same people. Anyhow, as I was driving home, trying to understand why I just bought some old pictures, I laughed out loud to myself: "I used to like toys that were called 'Little People'?! "