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“Everything has value, except money.”
–Jonathan Gash
”Can you tell me the value of this book?” says the walk-in customer at the shop, carefully removing a moldy bible from its Saran wrappings.
“How much is this worth?” asks the caller, after telling me the date of a book—but failing to mention the title.
“The guy at Mike’s (pawn shop) told me you can tell me what I can get for this,” the customer says, proudly holding up what’s left of an old comic book.
“They told me you buy old newspapers,” says another walk-in, never mentioning who “they” might be.
My days are filled with encounters like these, and each of my replies sounds like a smart-aleck retort. But there is no smart-aleckness intended. I’m just doing my job. My job is to show each person that I’m telling them the truth, that I am providing, free of charge, a reality check, saving them much time and effort and speculation, and hopefully protecting them from unscrupulous traders.
Customer: “What’s this worth?” My reply: “It’s worth a million dollars. But, then, all books are worth a million dollars to me.” (This is the truth.) “If you’d like to know how much it would sell for, the answer is, ‘about a dollar, if you can find a buyer for it.’”
Customer: “Can you tell me the value of this?” My reply: “It’s priceless. So much went into its design, creation and publication…there’s a story behind every item in the shop.” Then I have to break the news, gently, “However, it has no monetary value, so there are no customers waiting to purchase it.”
Of course, once in a long while, something really is special in terms of the “market.” Sometimes, the object of desire is saleable. In those instances, I am happy to inform the object’s owner of what money can be realized from its sale.
This means two things:
One: I disappoint a whole lot of people who, because of their devotion to Antiques Road Show and Pickers and other such shows, enter the shop already believing they are holding a fortune in their hands and have only to learn when they can get paid.
Two: Now and again, I have good tidings of great joy and can help the customer make some money.
The would-be customers are either thrilled or saddened, but they do leave with more information than expected.
Customers react in different ways. Some are not satisfied with my evaluation and continue visiting other dealers to see if anybody has a different tale to tell. Some are relieved to know the facts and can now move on to other concerns in life. Some are convinced that I don’t know what I’m talking about—unfazed by reality, they keep on hoping to find a buyer. They remain filled with hope and expectations. This winning-the-lottery kind of dreaming can be described as the receiving of unearned riches just by wishing real hard.
What’s a book worth? To me, that’s like asking what your child is worth.
I look forward to meeting the next customer who brings in a treasure to peruse. I learn something every time. But I also try to remain level-headed, because I know that not everybody feels the same way I do about found objects. To me, they are precious because of the silent stories they tell. But to many, the objects are just Ebay fodder waiting to be sold to a high bidder.
If I had my way, I’d purchase every relic offered me and place it on display in the world’s largest Museum of Fond Memories. To do that would require lots of money. And, as Jonathan Gash and his fictional character Lovejoy well know, unlimited amounts of money have no value.
It’s the things that have value that I most value
© Jim Reed 2014 A.D.