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February 16, 2025 You know video games, right? Your hero fights bigger and more powerful challengers as the game progresses. The same is happening with me. (Incidentally, I'm also the hero of this story.) I had a crap show in Davenport last Fall, and not much later the town was hit a lawsuit alleging corruption at City Hall. Take that. Now Nashville is officially on notice. Like Samuel L said in Jurassic Park, "Hold on to your butts." Strike one in this story is actually against me... ya know, the hero. You're reading a fair and balanced report, and part of that is the author admitting his own flaws. See, prior to signing up for this show, I promised a good bro of mine who moved to Indi(anapolis) a couple years back that I would come over and watch the Super Bowl with him. I miss him; I miss his delicious cooking and snacks; I miss having a few too many beverages with him and laughing about all sorts of crazy stuff. However, when I signed up for this show, I didn't cross-reference the date, nor did I have the Super Bowl trip written in my planner. So... F. Big time lesson in opportunity cost there. Maybe the bad juju from that set the tone for the weekend. Oh, and that's not the only mistake from the man/Monster in the mirror. Not having been to any Nashville show before, I didn't know that the "Nash-ional" was held at a different location than the promoter's monthly shows. So, I ended up booking a hotel about 12 miles south of the venue instead of one closer by, or even toward the some fun destination in the city. You'll see how this decision added a whole new set of wrinkles to the weekend. OK, so now that all the pre-show blame has been assigned, let's move on to all the misadventures of the actual weekend. Keep in mind that Kate accompanied me for this trip, and she'll 100% back up my rants. We didn't even arrive to the show before the locusts swarmed and frogs fell from the sky. When we were somewhere in KY or TN, a pickup truck pulling a trailer with a bunch of what looked to be residential construction trash precariously strapped down swung over to the passing lane that you all know I frequent. I immediately said to Kate, "Does this look secure to you?" But after a few miles, I was lulled into a (false) sense of security. Sure enough, a bag of trash flew off and I ran over it. Glancing in the rear view to see the guts of the trash bag, which functioned effectively as a speed bump at 70ish MPH, it seemed to be an explosion of drywall pieces and thin strips of wood. Now that some time has passed, I can assure you that there was no damage to the tire that took the brunt of it, nor the undercarriage, that I know of. But I did frequently check the tire and peer underneath for leaking fluids throughout the weekend. Fun. Getting to the show is where the "southern hospitality" started. The Fairgrounds location boasted "850+ tables." Though the tables were industry-disappointing 6' tables instead of the standard 8', the expanse of the show covered two large rooms. As such, I don't usually make my first trip in with a full cart of stuff because at that point my misssion is to chase down a staff member and then aimlessly find my tables. I just walk in empty-handed so I'm very mobile to start searching. Finding the front entrance and two ladies straight off the set of Designing Women, I introduce myself and intend to pick up the badges and whatever show packet they have. Nope, not so fast. The rule was to pay them first, and then get badges. My checkbook was in the van. *sigh* OK. They have their system, and didn't want to be chasing down people for payment. I grabbed my checkbook and was back in five minutes, and they immediately forgot who I was. And flash forward to Friday when the promoter was over the loud speaker asking dealers to pay for their booths. ...But then?? How did they have their badges?? *eye roll* As Wayne on Letterkenny says, "It's almost not worth thinking about." (I can't find a clip for that, so just watch Letterkenny.) By now you might be impatiently wondering, "What actually happened at the show?" Well, I got super pissed at a likely flipper Thursday afternoon, and then the rest of the weekend was whole bunch of nothing. First, I'll address this little shit who was interested in a few of my cards, but eventually pared it down to...well, a pair: a '56 Topps Mantle PSA 4 and '56 Topps Clemente PSA 7. I usually don't discuss actual numbers in the column, but the state will illuminate part of my frustration. I had them both priced at $2000 each, which is a dead-on market average value. And for anyone who shops around at shows, good F-ing luck finding cards actually at a market price. I cut to the chase with him quickly, as is my style, and told him $1800 each, cash. His response... "What am I supposed to do with them at that price?" I've never had anyone ask me that before, but as I was already frustrated with the length of the negotiation and his whiny quips, I said, "I really don't care. That's a good price." More hemming and hawing on his part ("They're in old holders," etc.) and more of me not budging. He eventually puts the Clemente back and says he'll take the Mantle. Then he asks for my Venmo or PayPal and I said this was only cash price. The last straw was when he said, "What is this, a museum?" That's when I put the card back in showcase, said, "We're done here," and walked away...from my own table. Kate was there for all of this, and I did have to explain to her later what a universal barb the "museum" line was. But she understood well before that crack what a prick he was. I don't know....maybe it was his first or second show and he wanted to practice some of his 101-level negotiating tactics. He steered clear of our tables the rest of the show. And as a nice prologue, I sold both of those '56s to another much, much cooler dealer the next day. The traffic going out from the heart of the city on Thursday at 6PM was a map full of red. Tried to circumvent it, but no luck. The only positive to come out of this path was finding a great El Salvadoran place to eat: Pupuseria Salvadorena #2. 
I had dos papusas and Kate had an order of tacos. It was so tasty, we went back again Friday night. And the woman behind the counter even remembered what we had ordered the night before! True southern hospitality. The rest of the show was an incredible drag. I have 27-28 years of shows under my belt now (from the dealer side of the table), and I can firmly say this was the worst "big" show I've ever done. The odd thing was that there were tons of people in attendance, so it was a very WTF few days for me. I always say, "Take me to where the people are, and I'll do well." This was why I was determined to do bigger shows as my resolution for 2024. By and large, it worked (except Pittsburgh). Well, Nashville officially shattered what had been a well-oiled, smoothly-working theory. I had an eye-line to some other big vintage dealers' booths in the room, and their tables were sparsely attended too. In many ways, that's reassuring. I always like to make sure I'm not the only one sinking. Talking to one unnamed, well-known, Midwestern vintage dealer, he said he'd done every show at that location, and this was his worst. In circulating the room, I found out that Pokemon was tremendously hot. So many people just breezed by my tables that I started making a game out of it. I stopped with my bank of random pleasantries and expressly started asking people what they were looking for or what they collected. 9/10 gave a very vague equivalent of "I'm just looking." What does that even mean? A couple more instances of southern hospitality that Kate encountered... 1) When she ordered her hamburger without the bun, one of the concession stand/food truck employees told her "I'm tired of dietary restrictions." Didn't know omitting a bun was so stressful! 2) On Saturday, Kate made a quick field trip to a nearby fabric store. When she came back to the show, the fairgrounds parking attendant asked for the $10 parking fee. Then Kate showed her the parking pass all the dealers had. To that, the attendant snapped back, "Well then you'll have to park over there," and waved vaguely across the street. As for the show as a whole, let me put it this way. On Saturday, Feb 15, I did a tiny show right here in Champaign, IL. Over the five or six hours the show was open, I sold more to the public than I did the entirety of Thurs-Sat in Nashville. And yes, you're reading that correctly, my/our show ended on Saturday. It was the easiest decision ever to pack up Saturday night and get the hell out of Dodge. What really tops off this trip is the hotel that I mistakenly booked for us. I'm gonna name names here too, because I'll 100% never be back there. It's a mouthful: Best Western Plus Executive Residency Nashville Antioch. You'll find lots of words in the title, but you know what you won't find there??? 
An open pool... 
juice... Why have cups out when the machine is dead?!!? 
creamer... 
or a fucking fork! What will you find?? 
air movers, all over the place. The hotel must have had some leaking/flooding recently. This picture is from our hallway. But there were literally six of these beasts three times the size of the ones pictured all running behind the front desk about a foot away from each other when we checked in. The poor clerk and I had to yell at each other to communicate over the commotion. Last, but not least, (and not pictured) is the short lady in charge of the breakfast area, who I dubbed "No No" because I thought those were the only two words of English she knew. "Do you have forks?" "No no," she said with a smile. "Juice?" "No no" with utter enjoyment. Just blissfully ruining my breakfast. Southern hospitality. By Sunday morning, I had exhausted the supply of powdered creamers in the room that came in those little mini-pouches of coffee additives and a stirrer. So I asked her if I could find a maid's cart with at least that to get by. "No no." ??? "There are no maid's carts?" I really wanted this creamer for what was actually cold coffee that morning. "I don't know," she said, as she was trying to get away from me with her short little legs. "?Quien sabe?" I asked, which stopped her in her tracks. "?Hablas Espanol?" She pointed me to the front desk. But then she desperately tried to talk the front desk clerk out of looking for them!! It was her mission to sabotage my breakfast! The front desk clerk finally tracked down a couple of the little miscarriages of diary justice. Word to the wise, powdered creamer only disperses properly in warm coffee. In cold coffee, it looks like you just dumped the contents of a bean bag chair into your cup. Good to know I'll never be back. You can safely let go of your butts now. Have fun! -T PS. I did make a few buys: 
Nicer 71 Clemente and 54 Ted have already sold! |
Inside My Brain