Today we learned of the death of a fellow swap meet vendor. He was the father of four and husband.

My dad (who is presently at the swap meet) called my mom at home to tell her the news. It’s hard to digest the tragic news.

Strength to the widow and her children.

Mmm, they’re big, they’re clunky, they emit large amounts of exhaust fume that makes you dizzy and oftentimes they make funny noises. It’s like you’re in the middle of the ocean while whales party it down with krill or are migrating somewhere.

These are the vans and trucks that swap meet sellers drive to the Bel Air with all the merchandise and junk they sell. If my dad’s many vans and trucks from the past are any indication, all vans and trucks used in swap meet business have an odoriferous funk, peeling paint, worn velvet or carpet lining inside, stains, cracks, and an overall air of decades-of-hard work, sweat and dreams that are hard to come by.

They, in a sense, represent their drivers: the men and women whose livelihoods depend on the local economy and people’s need for cheap products. They are battered, tried, old and scarred. Day and day out they putter to the swapmeet from their house, hoping that the battery doesn’t die on you on the way.

I salute the vans, trucks, men and women of the swap meet. I used to ride in the middle space between the driver and passenger seats in the front and breathe in the exhaust that came in through the cracks from the motor while my legs fell asleep under me–and my parents hoped no cop stopped them. Oh, those good old days!

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It’s been two weekends since I have visited my beloved Bel Air Swap Meet. No longer will I visit Mexican candy shops with piñatas fluttering in the air, nor fruit stands with Mexican tropical and desert favorites, nor will I walk through the stands selling old rusting metal contraptions that only men in grease and sweat stained shirts buy.

However, I still will be updating this blog. My sisters still go, and they take pictures.  I still have lots of memories and insights to share.

So it’s a goodbye-because in the physical sense I will no longer be there, an unwilling subject of the infernally hot and windy Inland Empire weekends–but in my heart, I know I will never be too far from my beloved swapmeet.

It’s just that I now have a full-time, 40-hrs-a-week type of job in L.A. and I can rest. I’ve never NEVER EVER EVER had weekends free on a regular basis. What to do with myself?

-Carla

Mexico Chicken Mexico Chicken Mexico Chicken

Next post will touch upon the touchy issue of rifle-wielding, sombrero-wearing, tequila-drinking cactus.

Oh wait, let’s look at the “Tequile” shot now!

Yeah, we sell these hats at our stand at the swap meet. They’re only $3 each or 2 x $5.

Photo by Beatriz

Another summer in the I.E. means oppressive triple-digit-heat from 10am to about 6pm. Nights are pretty cool, because I believe the 909 is really a horrible desert under the guise of a valley–although inland is, I think, a real desert? I dunno too many geographic details about the area, all I know is that it’s not smart to walk around the swap-meet without taking preventive protection measures against the sun.

You should totally still come to the swap meet though and spend your money at my dad’s stand or any of the stands. The recession has REALLY fucked over a lot of vendors because a lot of families in the I.E. are fucked over financially so people’s sales have drastically gone down–like people are not even selling half what they used to sell two years ago. So, still come, but follow the advice below before you do visit:

Protective Measures if you Venture out to the Bel-Air Swap Meet (or any outdoor event in the middle of the day during the worst of the heat):

• Drink plenty of fluids (I recommend WATER above all else, although Gatorade works I suppose–no sugary drinks or coffees because these just dehydrate you more)
• Sunscreen with SPF 150. Or whatever you can find, I think 50 or 75 is the highest.
• Long sleeve shirts, loose cotton garments, white clothing.
• A hat, be it a cap or a wide-brimmed straw thing. Cover your head.
• Umbrellas. Parasols. Do it. You’ll be glad you did.
• Leave pets at home with lots of water.

Reasons Why You Should Protect Yourself:

• If you’re fair-skinned, you get red, you peel and if you’re my mom–develop sun spots on your face–even if you wear SPF face cream.
• If you’re dark-skinned bronze color like me, you might achieve what my father describes as a “carne asada” color–or a grilled brown. My arms are now definitely much darker than the rest of me.
• Sun-swoons. Sun-strokes? What is that called? Passing out from intense heat and sun rays. You know when your internal temperature boils over and you collapse and the ambulance gets called into the swap-meet and everyone gets scared? Children, the elderly and pregnant women need to totally just stay home or hydrate every 5 minutes.
• Skin Cancer.
• Sweat stains on your clothes. They yellow.
• The tan men get is the outline of your t-shirt on your body.

By Carla.

this arrow is located next to our puesto, it directs the flow of traffic and points toward the snack bar

arrow standing still

pointing all day long, always

faithful to the feet

They’re found at the end of the swap meet where you can see the freeway through the chain-link fence.

There are also bunnies, snakes and lizards. For good prices. I think.

Photo by Beatriz

Strolling through the swap meet, you walk around with your family or friends looking at things while you eat a bag of potato chips and hot salsa. You stop because you notice that someone in your group stopped and pointed towards a stand selling women’s underwear. You turn your head sideways and bam–

You’re trying to make sense of what you see.

They’re buttock-shaping girdles in what appear to be very unattractive shades of the color ‘flesh.’

Let’s start from the far left side of the photograph (taken by my sisters on one of their strolls last weekend). The far left side is what we normally call a ‘faja’ in Spanish–which roughly equates to a girdle or some sort of spandex corset or waist-cinching article of clothing. However, it looks to be particularly dirty–as in, it has been  used for four weeks straight and never washed. Gross.

The next article of intimate wear is very confusing. So much so that I won’t try to explain what it is because I don’t know what it is. My sister Isaura said it was ‘duh, a bra.’ Figure out its mechanics!

The third article is butt-shaping pantaletas. They have what appear to be padding on the cheeks. You know, how some bras have padding in the cups so the breasts appear fuller? Yeah, like that. It would appear that only someone very desperate for shapely buttocks would purchase this. Most of the women at the swap meet, be they young or old, have significant posteriors. Not cute, btw.

The fourth to the left has to be my favorite piece of all time. As opposed to the aforementioned panty, this one is a beauty–the buttocks portion is nonexistent. It only has–what seems to be an uncomfortable strap (that I will presume goes you know where) that all together  makes one’s natural buttocks more prominent. Or maybe, they’re just kinky panties (really ugly btw, if they’re meant for the kinky). Puzzling.

The far right side has what look like a set of dirty, used pantyhose–possibly found on the side of the freeway that morning.

Mayhap my explanation on swap meet underwear is a bit disdainful–but I really do try to understand them. They make me laugh and cry at the same time.

Let’s try to understand underwear together. Let’s do.

-Carla

Irma sells tools and tents and stuff at the swap meet.

You don’t want to be a tool. No one does unless you’re a hammer or a wrench. Most people try to educate themselves to not be tools. They broaden their minds, they read books, they go to college, they learn a different language, they try to be analytical and critical and make sense of themselves and their impact on their surroundings or vice versa. However, these are not guarantees against falling into being a tool. I would know.

I am a tool–sometimes. For example: I listen to Ryan Seacrest in the morning on KIIS FM. Tool. I sing along to the song “Birthday Sex.” Tool. I watch this crappy Televisa telenovela. Knowing the racist, classist, and sexist ideology it engenders. Tool. I read these books. And I really like them.

"My dad's toolbox at the swapmeet" by Betty

Tools–as most of us are–shop at stores like Target or Wal-Mart or the swap meet. You can try to shop at places like Trader Joes or Whole Foods or wherever it is that Claremont residents shop at–but that’s just being a douche bag. A privileged, elitist one. And I’d rather be a poor lame tool than that. Or a hammer. Thor’s Hammer.

Damn, I love inserting hyperlinks into my text. I am a tool.

-Carla.