Someone from the crowd shoots at the auctioneer platform. The bullet strikes the auctioneer in the shoulder blade.
A technician places an orange traffic cone on top of the car. He pops the hood, hooks up jumper cables to the battery, then sits in the driver’s seat and starts the vehicle. The car backfires horribly; the loud, shotgun-like sound echoes through the salvage yard. A thick, white cloud of exhaust engulfs a 10-foot area around the car.
Auctioneer: Um . . . let’s start the bidding at $550. Do I hear $550?
Guy: What happened to $200?
Auctioneer: $550 for this car that technically runs! Push it off the lot today! Do I have a bidder? Yes, the homeless-looking man in the back who obviously has no intention of buying this car! Do I hear $575? Yes, the fat drunk guy in the back who doesn’t realize he’s at an auction! Great! $575 going once, twice, sold! Sold to the drunkard who has now fallen asleep. I’d like to remind everyone, for the seventh or eighth time, that if you bid on a car and don’t buy it, you’ll be denied entry to future auctions.
Someone in the thick crowd yells “Piece of shit” very loudly. The technician moves the orange traffic cone to the next vehicle, which has no wheels, a completely smashed front end, and is leaking anti-freeze all over the ground.
Auctioneer: Okay, our next car is . . . was a 2002 Ford Explorer. Our technician will start it up, and then we’ll start the bidding at $200.
The technician turns the key in the ignition. The car stutters for a few moments, then explodes into a giant ball of fire, killing the technician and four innocent bystanders.
Auctioneer: Uh Joyce, could you see if we have another cone?
A horrifically obese woman holding a baby and a lit cigarette at the same time grumbles, puts the baby down on her folding chair, and carries a traffic cone over to a technician. The technician puts the cone on a taxi parked next to the flaming wreckage of the previous car.
Auctioneer: Our next vehicle is a 1997 Crown Victoria. This is the perfect car for someone who wants to start a taxi business. It even has the standard “Score Gentlemen’s Club” pornographic advertising covering the entire back window. Just make sure you buy a taxi license, or the police will confiscate the car and sell it here. That’s state law, folks. Please also note that this car smells terrible. Just awful. We can hardly stand to sit in it for more than few minutes.
Paul: I’ll bid $14 and a DJ Dozier rookie card.
Auctioneer: DJ who?
Paul: DJ Dozier. He was a running back for the Minnesota Vikings. He did not pan out well.
Auctioneer: Okay folks, let’s not waste my time.
Paul: I also have an autographed Qadry Ismail card. They called him “The Missile” in college. I think he works as a barista now.
Auctioneer: I think you work as a barista.
Paul: I wish! If I did, I might have more than $14.
Auctioneer: Please go home, and take that supermarket grand opening flyer signed by Tommy Kramer with you. I see it there in your hand. It’s not going to work.
Paul: It’s also signed by Rick Stelmaszek, a bullpen coach for the Minnesota Twins.
Auctioneer: Get the hell out of here!
Paul: I can’t walk back to the subway holding a Rick Stelmaszek autograph! Those Puerto Ricans will kill me for it!
Auctioneer: Let’s start the opening bid on this taxi at $500. Anyone? $500?
Paul: $15.50, all these fine sports collectibles, plus a nude picture of me on my cellphone that I will text to any number you want. Nope, wait. Hold on. I’m on roaming. Damn Sprint. I can text it to you when I get home.
Police officers forcefully drag Paul to the exit and toss him into the street. A gang of Puerto Ricans crowd around him.
Gang Leader: Hey, is that a Rick Stelmaszek autograph?
Six or seven of the gang members pull out knives.