Virtual Fools

Raleigh, NC is a weird city. It doesn’t really have a skyline (five tall buildings, at least, do not constitute a skyline) and only ever feels like a city for a few blocks of the proper downtown. I live in Raleigh, but in something of a residential/suburban area about five minutes drive from the heart and soul of it all. What is equally amazing is that I also happen to live about five minutes away from a rural area, the quintessential “country.” If one is feeling torn between wanting the hustle/bustle of the urban with the grey and brown fields of the agricultural, then I suppose Raleigh is a good place.

Now, Bobby and I are no strangers to ridiculous places. Recall our extended adventures at the boardwalks of New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland, or our forays into the world’s most boring malls. But one of the few places that I have discovered since my relocation down South as being aggressively Southern, to the point of making the rest of the South not feel Southern, has been the weekly flea market at the North Carolina State Fairgrounds. Located at the exact crossroads of where Raleigh goes from nearly urban to nearly rural, this flea market is incredibly interesting. Advertised by a modest website and simple word-of-mouth, this bargain-hunter’s dream is a singular experience for people interested in the experience of the “tranistional” Southern states (not “deep” states, but sub-Mid-Atlantic places like Virginia, Tennessee, NC, and Kentucky).

Everything imaginable is sold by everyone imaginable. Some stalls have specific focus (a few comic book deals, many people specializing in furniture or ceramics, a vintage tuxedo store, even a cart that refills ink cartridges) while others pedal assorted bric-a-brac. Some of the stuff is old, well-loved, and collectible. Some of it is forgotten, discarded, junky. Some selections seem to have convieniently fallen off the back of trucks. A few of the stores - it should be noted that there are storefronts within the fairgrounds - are totally comprehensive, like the military surplus store that could outfit a thousand Hollywood epics.

Extended browsing allows one to notice trends. The nearly hundred dealers engaged in selling movies have a variety of wares, but it becomes pretty clear that there are certain movies that NOBODY seems to want (myriad copies of old titles like His Girl Friday, or the recent saturation of terrible genre epics like Supernova or, as Bobby pointed out, Vertical Limit). Lots of video games in the mix. One specialty stall had titles from all epochs, most systems. A few sellers seemed desperate to get rid of ten copies of Madden 2001. Many of the video game stalls seemed to be manned by fellow hobbyists, interested in providing a range of titles and a sense of history. Other tables featured stacks of dusty, damaged games looking for a new home.

There are bizarre vestiges of the Confederacy in some areas. Beyond the pithy doormats with Dixie flags are old caricature statues, Uncle Remus salt-shakers, and lots of 100 year old postcards that are less vintage than in purely bad taste. Some of the curios are less historically offensive, like the “Biblical Coins” (I still don’t know what these are) or framed and faded pictures of Duke sports teams from the 1910s.

This flea market is an experience. Bargain-hunters, junk collectors, and weekly patrons mull around to the sweet smells of funnel cakes and fried Twinkies. A few furniture dealers protect their merchandise from the sun by displaying it in bizarre geodesic domes. The nearby arena, often used for cattle auctions or gun shows, also hosts roller derby and the occasional music performance. This is the crossroads of the “New” South: Pluralist, confused, interesting, totally wacky, but unique and strangely dignified.

As one man said to me as I sheepishly asked about buying a CD, “Everything is for sale.” This flea market isn’t just a big yard sale, it is a source of livelihood, a side business venture, and sometimes a point of pride.