Mid-Life Cycling

Mid-Life Cycling

08 July 2016

If He Hollers, Let Him Squall

I haven't spent a lot of time around antique dealers.  (I guess I hang with the wrong crowd.  Oh well.)  From my limited contact with them, my image conforms to the stereotype:  very discreet and low-key, always speaking in restrained, if not hushed, tones.

Those of you who spend a lot of time around antique dealers might say that I have indeed been hanging with the wrong crowd--of antique dealers.  For all I know, there might be loud, extroverted sellers of paintings and family heirlooms.  They might be the ones catering to the nouveau riche rather than the haut bourgeiosie.

I was just riding through a neighborhood where those two worlds meet--at Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, where Brooklyn Heights meets Boerum and Cobble Hills.  By the looks of things, the latter two neighborhoods are well on their way from becoming nouveau to haute.  (The Heights has been HB for a while.)  The antique shop on the corner where I stopped for a traffic light looked like it was catering more to the haut crowd, at least from what I saw through the window.  But then I saw this sign hanging above it:





Holler & Squall?  Two things I would never expect an antique dealer to do.  I'm not sure I'd want anyone to do either if I were handing over large sums of money for an irreplaceable object.

At least I could laugh openly when I saw that sign.  I had to suppress my laughter when I was writing for a newspaper and interviewed a police commander named Lawless.  (Really!)  Or a veterinarian named Barker--or a psychiatrist named Looney.

Maybe one of these days I'll take a ride back to the antique shop and see whether anyone hollers or squalls.  Of course, I won't go on a bike named Squeak.



2 comments:

  1. Roger-I can't say I have. But I'd bet it's an interesting experience.

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