Night Owl Cards

I'm not sure how much longer the card show that I went to on Saturday is going to last. It's not even really a card show, it's actually a collectibles show that caters to the old money vacationing river people that arrive here every summer. It's mostly lots of elderly people trading coins and combing for postcards. A year ago, the show was cut from the traditional two days to one day. I missed that show because I didn't know the change was made. This year, I was wise to them and headed up bright and early on a Saturday. When I walked in, the table where I usually paid my three bucks was empty. In place of people taking money was a donation jar to raise funds for foreign exchange students at the local high school. "That's odd," I thought. When I turned the corner into the hall, I saw more indifference. There were far fewer people looking over wares than I had seen in past shows. And most noticeably, an entire one-fourth of the hall that onc...

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...