How to Become an Auctioneer
by Matt Leibel
ractice talking like your voice is running a 100-meter dash against other voices and all the other voices can move their mouths faster than elite stenographers can type but you’re confident that your voice is not only rapid-fire quick but is capable of enunciation that’s clear as a bell, if bells could enunciate, the best bells in the business, and how much would you give to be the best in the business, how about ten, how about twenty, do I hear thirty, forty, fifty thousand, whatever it’s going to take, you’re going to give it, because auctioneering is in your blood, your daddy was an auctioneer and your daddy’s daddy, and your daddy’s daddy’s daddy, going all the way back to five generations, do I hear ten, and you were sold on this long ago, there’s nothing you’d rather do, the only problem is, do I hear there’s a problem, the only problem is that you can’t stop, the only problem is, everything is up for auction all the time, what do I hear for this pine tree in the park, this beautiful tree with flowering cones the size of softballs, let’s start the bidding on this sunset, this picture-perfect sunset, deep red with orange and yellow streaks, a work of true passion by a benevolent God who makes art for art’s sake, and how much for this attractive stranger, this beautiful person just passing by, what are they worth to you, not that we buy and sell other people, my God no, but what if we did, what would you be willing to bid, and even in your dreams you’re selling paintings and pigs and plantains on the block and even broad, philosophical concepts like entropy or enlightenment for sums you can’t believe, because there’s always some bored hobbyist willing to hold up a stick, to shell out for the privilege of owning something, anything, there’s always another item, and you wonder what it would be like to live a life where you’re not constantly selling, where your mouth is not constantly moving, where everything would slow down and you could enjoy the silence in the air, the silence in your head, how much would you give for something like that, do I hear ninety, do I hear a hundred thousand, do I hear a million, do I hear
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Author's Note
In watching Werner Herzog’s short documentary “How Much Wood Would a Woodchuck Chuck,” which covers the 1976 World Auctioneer Championship, two things stood out to me. One is that auctioneering is a kind of music, with each cattleman-hatted, bolo-wearing bid caller having their own sound, unique as fingerprints, beautiful as birdsong. (Honestly, the best of them twang like human banjos.) The other thing is just how all-consuming this vocation must be, especially if you hope to become world-class: your mind and your mouth need to remain in perfect lockstep, even when both are moving fast as Ferraris. What other thoughts and feelings might that need for speed crowd out? And what if the auction never ends?
Matt Leibel lives in San Francisco. His short fiction has appeared in Electric Literature, Portland Review, Passages North, Quarterly West, Wigleaf, DIAGRAM, Socrates on the Beach, and Aquifer: The Florida Review Online. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and included in the Best Small Fictions anthology in 2020 and 2024. Find him on Twitter at @matt_leibel or on Bluesky at @mattleibel.bsky.social.