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Metal Tradeworks
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Street Rodder / Restorer’s Lament
(and everyone else's, too)
 

You know the story.  You’ve  waited for months, seasons and sometimes years
with great anticipation for the “Swap meet of Dreams” to begin. You bolt through
the entry gates at 5 :00 AM., (or earlier), just to peruse the aisles of “one mans’
treasure” piles.  Like Indiana Jones in a frantic search for the last and lost
“diamond in the rough”, your eyes are endlessly scanning the next mound in dire
hopes of finding — ”It”,   These same eyes constantly betray you with mirages of
the desperately sought after “gem” that remains elusive. 

After hours(or days) of wading thru a sea of metal plankton, fatigue sets in. Your
hearing is dulled from the drone of  “3rd world marketplace“ barkers. You’re
discouraged. Your feet hurt. Your countenance has fallen. Your eyes are droopy
and snow-blind from gazing upon all the glittery “treasures”.  Your focus drops
and suddenly, there “it” is.  A corner of “it” is protruding beyond the bottom boundary of a greasy mirey dogpile of Detroit artifacts. Protectionism sets in on you as you fend off the urge to “mark “your new found territory.  With zeal you pounce on your
self demarcated domain as if it were an archeological dig. Layer by layer is rolled
away  to expose the path to raise “it” up and out to redemption. .... Just about
then your euphoric trance is broken by the gruff voice of “Bubba” from behind the
weight challenged card table, barking “Ay, I want a couple hunderd bucks fer
that ,  ther gettin hard to find, ya know!”.  Out comes the grocery money and off
to your car you go, caressing your new find like a newborn all the way.  
 
All this, just so that you can end an era by completing the mechanical
masterpiece that has haunted your dreams, spurred your engineering prowess
on to creative genius, and relieved your pocketbook of all dispensable income. 
(If ,however, you’re wealthy enough, you have your “people” endure the
aformentioned process for you). 
 
Your wife, however, can’t believe that you’ve spent that much time and money
just to bring home this “piece of junk”.  She just doesn’t “Get it”. Surviving that,
you’re on to the next step.  

Yippee!  Restoration time. 
 
This is often where the dream is dashed to pieces and the nightmare begins.
You let your fingers do the walking, and the yellow pages(or even Hemmings)
yield the contact info of the polishing/plating shops.  Often times you’re not sure
which year of the industrial revolution that you unwittingly transported back to as
you pass thru the front door, but you’re assured that  “Nobody shines better than
us”. You lay your precious goods on the altar/receiving counter and hope for the
best.  You wait two weeks, after the time estimate given, to call for an update.
“Another two weeks” they chant. (You could have pressed # for that).  Two weeks
later, anebreated ‘Looey’,  the polisher,  who doesn’t know the difference
between a Duesenberg  and a  dogbowl, finally shows up to work, begrudgingly

grabs your cherished parts and saunters off to the darkened back room  to do
what he does best. He starts grinding on your treasures with an 80 Grit, whether
it needs it or not.
Enter Nausea
 
From here, the numerous tales of woe have many ‘variations on a theme’ and
are no longer laughable.  Often the parts are damaged beyond repair and/or
recognition.  Your ‘treasures’ have just been trashed by the very “professionals”
that were supposed to restore them.
   

"Coming soon"

Check back for tips and answers on how to avoid this scenario. If you have a question or story that you think may be of interest to others, please write it in the comment box of the "Contact Info" page.  Upon review, responses will be posted here in a Q.& A. format.



located in the beautiful
 Sierra Foothills of Northern California


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