So besides writing books and the day job I do forty hours a week, I sell at a various flea markets throughout New Jersey and Philadelphia. I selling sterling silver jewelry and fine vintage goods a/k/a stuff in my garage that no one in the family wants anymore. One of those items was a Jaycee vintage toy piano, probably made in the late 1960s early 70s. It was not a Schoenhut, not a Steinway, but a happy little toy piano with which a three year old can make a joyous noises. You know the sounds, that joyous onomatopoeia of BING!,BING! BLAM! BLAM !TINKLE! TINKLE! SQUEAK! Over and over again…
When I bought the little piano for resale, I picked it up off a old man, a flea market vendor with a beat up truck who couldn’t wait to sell me the piano fast enough. I should have known something was wrong, when the old guy took off laughing his ass off as he drove away.
I took the toy piano to at least five markets. By the end of the toy piano’s fifth flea market debut, I couldn’t take it anymore. It was like a strange uncontrollable attractive nuisance for flea market attendees. Everyone had to play the toy piano, children of all ages, young adults, parent, grandparents, feral dogs, All day long BING!,BING! BLAM! BLAM !TINKLE! TINKLE! SQUEAK! Over and over again… Out of desperation I taped the piano keys down and put up a sign that said, “PIANO WORKS, PLEASE DO NOT PLAY.”
In spite of the sign, people toyed with it anyway. I had to politely tell potential customers to stop. Some acquiesced, some were annoyed but stopped, while others simply kept “playing.”
After the toy piano’s seventh debut, a young couple with a gorgeous little three year old expressed interest. This little piano normally sells for $60-70 and I was selling it for a mere $15. The couple explained that their adorable little son was “musically inclined, a potential prodigy.” When they showed the little fellow the piano, he did what everyone else at the flea market did without exception BING!,BING! BLAM! BLAM !TINKLE! TINKLE! SQUEAK! Over and over again… He just loved the little piano. The couple walked away and in typical flea market fashion said they would be back. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard that one before.
After I had packed my car which made my me look like I was living out of it, the couple came back. I had to unpack part of the car to get to the piano, but I found it. The father paid me for the piano and then bombarded me with questions: “Can I teach basic classical music on it? Has it been tuned properly? “
I looked around. Was Allen Funt from Candid Camera back from the dead? Was I being Punk’d? This had to be a joke, right?
“Sir,” I explained. “it is a toy piano. It just makes noise and was probably never in tune.”
“So I can’t teach him basic songs?”
“No, you need a real keyboard or miniature piano for that kind of instruction.”
He then replied, “But what if I got it tuned?”
I look around again waiting for the cameras, There weren’t any.
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