Collectibles
Everywhere you turn these days someone is selling "collectibles," which we used to call "trinkets" or "junk." The vendor insists that a numbered and signed pewter figurine of Michael Dukakis is a sound investment that will only increase in value. Given that technically its value cannot be less than zero, this is probably true. However, if you are saying "Michael who?" you see my point.
The Franklin Mint seems to be one of the main perpetrators of collectibles, with a product line ranging from the Star Trek Chess Set to the model train collection. I can see the trains insofar as there are plenty of rich people who fancy themselves railroad buffs, but Star Trek fans and chess? They're far too busy playing World of Warcraft on their computers. And even if some of them pause long enough to wipe the drool off their chins (or not) and to play chess, how many of them who can afford to spend $650 wouldn't rather own the pewter replica of the Enterprise? (Oops, I guess the Franklin Mint really does have a lock on this market.)
It used to be that people had coin collections, or stamps, rocks, sea shells, or baseball cards. Now it seems that if something can be categorized ("dead, moldy woodland creatures," for example) it can be collected. Since collectors are willing to shell out big bucks for an item missing from their collections, entrepreneurs begin to accumulate junk in the hopes that someone else collects it and will pay for it. To see how this works, just visit a flea market.
Flea Market Customer: "Just what is this thing anyway?"
Flea Market Vendor: "What do you think it is?"
Customer: "It looks like a dead, moldy woodland creature."
Vendor: "Yes, that's exactly right."
Customer: "It wouldn't happen to be a wombat, would it? I
need one for my collection."
Vendor: "By golly, that's exactly what it is!"
Customer: "How much do you want for it?"
Vendor: " $300."
Customer: "I'll give you $250."
Vendor: "Deal."
Naturally, the customer thinks he is fleecing the vendor because he knows that a good dead, moldy wombat will fetch at least $500 on E-Bay. The vendor thinks the customer is crazy to pay $250, because he knows that the item in question was a Pekinese before it wandered onto I-95 Northbound. And dead, moldy pekes are a dime a dozen.
Another place frequented by collectors and entrepreneurs is the public auction. You can get really good deals at auctions, especially if no one else is present who knows the value of petrified rodent droppings.
Auctioneer: "The next item is, uh, is well, kind of
cylindrical and brown, must be some sort of
rock. Who'll give me $1 for it?"
Collector: "Seventy-five cents."
Auctioneer: "(unintelligible babble) Sold to the smirking
gentleman."
Again, the collector is very pleased at his own shrewdness. God only knows what you would pay for petrified muskrat droppings with a dealer. There probably are dealers, too. The Franklin Mint may even be contemplating the pewter rodent-dropping assortment.
Of course, there are plenty of collectors who are not even remotely interested in dead, moldy woodland creatures. For instance, no self-respecting modern art collector would pay good money for petrified rodent droppings. They prefer to buy paintings of them instead.
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