Jockey Q's

We simply had to have one last horrah before Spring Break ended, and thus Rachel and I decided to arise early Sunday morning and visit the Jockey Lot which her dad, Dean, describes as a glorified flea market. Upon our arrival I certainly could not argue with his characterization of such an establishment. Yet at the same time I was stuck with an ever pervading sense of nostalgia as we wandered past the pink hotdog shack. The various sights and sounds of the Jockey Lot conjured up dusty memories of old pastimes, inevitably assisting me as I construct my own personal portrayal of the Jockey Lot.

Travel with me, if you would, back to a little town called Quakertown, Pennsylvania. Tucked away, along the outskirts of town is a conglomerate affectionately referred to by the natives as the Q-Mart, or to be politically correct, the Quakertown Farmer’s Market. After only a single visit one may find themselves dumfounded, as if the English language took a blow below the belt and there were no words sufficient that could paint a picture that would accurately depict the potpourri of activities taking place.

In a nutshell the Q-Mart is a smorgasbord of circus outcasts trying to sell you an overpriced Romex watch. As if that was not bad enough, it seems that the orchestrators of the Q-Mart are completely ignorant of the Surgeon General’s warning, for a thick ever-present cloud of smoke wafts throughout the facility, mingling with the freshly baked danishes at the bakery, and dancing with the pig intestines that hang from the ceiling of one of approximately 50 butcher counters. But please, I beseech you, do not leave just yet because waiting just around the corner is a man who specializes in the sale of cow tongues, which he considers to be a delicacy!

I’m still quite perplexed though, as to what provoked the comparison between these two places. Surely it must have been the fluorescent pink hotdog shack that prodded deep into the confines of my brain pulling out such memories of the Q-Mart. Whatever the case may be and however strange, the Jockey Lot proved to be quite impressionable.

Unlike the Q-Mart, the majority of the Jockey Lot peddlers spoke discernable English although smothered in a good ole-fashioned southern accent, which believe it or not, helps to facilitate an actual sale. Yet as with all places, there are people that come from all walks of life. In fact, my first purchase was from a lady who retained her own special uniqueness. She was introduced to me as the Sox Lady. Her hair was nestled neatly under a knitted hat, trying to escape the early morning chill. Smiling eyes offered a friendly greeting from below the canopy of rather interesting eyebrows, which had been painted on with a purplish colored lip liner. Yet, her Colombian accent cut through the air like a hot knife through butter, differentiating her from the throng of southerners as she whispered, “I’ll make you a deal on these.” while pointing to some dress socks. Anxious and excited to see Rachel, she made the request for some contact information, which Rachel graciously provided. In her tattered address book she referred to Rachel as, “The socks I like.” After recovering from a rather bad case of logorrhea we managed to escape to do some more exploring.

Dogs, birds, hardware, food, cosmetics, clothes etc. You name it, and we found it at the Jockey Lot, including a Russian taxidermist who tried desperately to sell Dean a very fashionable lamp made of deer legs, hooves and all.

In a sense the Jockey Lot, like the Q-Mart, has left me speechless, perhaps from a more positive perspective. Thus I am left with no choice but to advise you that if you are ever in Anderson, South Carolina and are looking for some fun, laughs, and even a few good buys, head to the Jockey Lot. It gets a 10 in my book!