You sit down on the couch and the first thing you notice is Scotty Cam’s nervousness. His big hands clamp together on his lap almost in prayer for you. The artificial lights flood your face as you switch your focus to the massive screen in front of you, and there she is. Your apartment. Your baby, nervously awaiting its monetary critique. Nothing can prepare you for the next fifteen minutes.
The air is thick with irony. Our inspired journey, which began six months ago on a couch in front of a television is soon to end in the same way. I have no time to contemplate this. I can barely breathe.
I lock with Kim’s fingers for familiarity, and stare to the carpet for one final rationalisation. Flash. Clips from our Block journey stream through my mind. Creating our application video. Applying 10 minutes before the deadline. Making the casting interview. The phone call that got us on the show. Scotty announcing we were on The Block. Struggling to success on the show. Completing an apartment we loved. My body flushes with appreciation. Flash.
When my head lifts I say, “let’s have fun”.
Our auctioneer calls for a first bid and we’re off. $90,000. $100000. $120000. It’s a blur. My new friends in my living room have money. Advocates flip paddles, nervous bidders eyeball the room, our auctioneer steers the room into a frenzy. Kim and I teeter form the edge of the couch, hoping not to fall too early.
An excited group of bidders quickly dissipates, leaving two men in suits. Phone clad and dialed into Damien Cooley’s frequency they exchange blows. $200000, $220000, $230000, $240000 over reserve. The bidding has reached well over $1.4 million dollars.
For the fleetiest of moments, I allow my frequency to change too. Just minutes before, we’d sat with hopes of making $30,000, a fair tradeoff for our time at the block. Minutes later, we might win this thing.
The crazy race continues but eventually runs its course. The final figure is $250000 over reserve.
I’m sitting here, now, four days later, and it still hasn’t registered. I guess it won’t for a while.
So as a survival guide to ‘the auction’ I guess my advice is this: I have none. Some things in life are better attempted without preparation. Some things are meant to be without adequate description. Like standing at the base of a massive waterfall, or before a sea of candles with your family singing happy birthday. These moments stand in their own magic, quietly, waiting, for one of us to bump into them.