I’ve been to one auction before, for a house. And that was nerve-racking enough. So when we rocked up at Pickles Auctions this morning with our eye on one specific lot, we were both bouncing with nervous tension.
Moosified led the way into the auction yard, striding purposefully amongst the smashed up cars. It was a sad display of driver ignorance; I wanted to take them all home!
Some lots were gone beyond belief, but were still up for sale. We wrinkled our noses at some Commodores that were far gone (and a few looked like they’d been used in ram raids).
“Lot 425,” Moosified says, looking dubiously into the warehouse. “Where do you reckon it would be?”
“Right here?” I point directly in front of us.
The white Corolla sat in front of us, nondescript to anyone else but us. Moosified pretty much jumps on it, checking chassis rails and strut towers. A few people are casting us looks and I’m suddenly aware that we’re the only two girls in this whole auction lot.
Nonetheless, we pour over it, and the only thing wrong with it is the front end damage which we’ve already assessed. We immediately paste unimpressed looks on our faces and move away.
“Is anyone else looking at it?” she asks as we pretend to be interested in a dead Mazda.
I peer over her shoulder just as the Corolla’s bonnet is lifted.
“Yes,” I say, chewing my lip nervously. “No… wait, they’re moving away.”
Both of our hearts are hammering, and when it closes in on ten o’clock we shuffle into the warehouse and take seats close to the entrance to keep an eye on it; the Corolla has been parked in a rather unfortunate spot, right at the entrance where the bidding will take place.
“We’re starting at 401,” she says, her eyes on the large screen above us. “Oh my god, this isn’t going to take long at all.”
The bidding starts and we’re amazed at the ferocity of the bidding. Trashed cars are going for over $1000!
“We might be in over our heads,” I say nervously. “This is way beyond what I expected.”
We watch as cars are sold left, right and centre. It’s pretty terrifying.
“Maggie,” she muses. “Or Nancy?”
“You can’t name it yet!”
Says me. I’ve already named my future car.
Lot 424 arrives, a Suzuki Swift or something. Moosified looks like she’s going to be sick.
“My heart hurts.” She groans.
425 arrives, our little Corolla.
“Lift your number high.” I mutter. She nods and grips her number tight.
“Can we start the bidding at $50?”
You’re damn straight we can. Moosified thrusts her hand into the air.
Someone bids against us. Moosified bids again. They fight. She puts her number up high.
It’s quite obvious that we want this car, badly. The auctioneer starts calling a number, a price, over and over again.
“Is that mine?” Moosified asks me worriedly.
“I think so.” I confirm, my heart hammering.
The gavel slams onto the desk.
“Sold!” The auctioneer crows.
“Did I win?” Moosified askes, seemingly dazed.
“Yes,” I say excitedly. “Yes you did. Come on. Over to the desk.”
I tow her to the desk to pay the deposit. The guys are friendly and helpful; they obviously saw how she was bidding.
We arrange for a tow and wander back out into the rain to stare at her newly bought car. She looks close to tears.
“I’ve got it,” she says.
“Her name.” She beams a huge grin at me. Any hint of tears is gone. “Heidi.”
Check on this blog frequently, I’m sure there will be picks of our little Heidi soon.