That Time Dad Tagged Along On An Overseas Buying Trip

Today’s Momday Motivations is about that time Dad tagged along on an overseas buying trip. Folks hear “buying trip” and may swoon. But my father came to view it somewhat differently.

But first, a brief explanation for the newbies. Every Monday I share a teaser from the memoir I’m writing about the miraculous changes I underwent during the decade spent soldiering alongside my Type A mother in her successful Vancouver Asian antiques and collectibles shop. Miraculous? I think so. In 1983 I went in as a reluctant, dysfunctional Summer sales assistant. I knew nothing about Asian antiques and cared for them even less, yet I emerged in 1993 as a penny-pinching bookkeeper, confident buyer and rather capable salesperson. Toss in a boss blessed with multiple personas, two murdered customers, an introduction to the chap who’d become my husband, multiple quirky clients, and six overseas buying trips and well, it’s promising to be a fun read.

My late dad was a shy, humble, workaholic pediatrician who led the early Canadian research into Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders. He also frequently moonlighted as the shop’s delivery man. His name was Geoff but when working for Frankie Robinson Oriental Gallery he preferred to fly under the radar as Fred and delighted in wearing the bespoken overalls complete with “Fred” stitched on the outside pocket. 

That Time Dad Tagged Along On An Overseas Buying Trip

We’d spent the day in a multi-roomed dusty, cavernous warehouse on the outskirts of Hong Kong, far from the glamorous shops of Wyndham Street or Hollywood Road. Dad had tolerated the proceedings better than expected. We’d been led into an airless room at the back of the warehouse where the lighting was nonexistent at best and introduced to yet another employee. This gentleman was ancient. Dressed in a torn undershirt and black cotton pants, he had no English. I was somehow appointed Head Communicator and expected to pantomime our desire to view any antique Coromandel lacquer screens. Bless the fellow. He quickly understood and after waving away any offers of help, slowly dragged open three examples.

The room was so dark it was impossible to make out the subject matter. But nevermind. He grabbed Dad’s hand and dragged it across the surface.

“Lovely. I’m guessing flowers and ladies and bridges. The usual, Francine.” But then Dad’s voice changed into the one he used with non-English speakers. Loud and monosyllabic.

“CRACK? IS CRACK?”

The fellow shuffled off, leaving us alone.

“Christ.”

Oh dear. It was clear that Dad had had enough. But I’d no idea of how to get us back to the main entrance; the place was a veritable rabbit warren.

The gentleman mercifully returned in 10 minutes accompanied by a much younger man who quickly flicked on the lights and said in perfect English “So sorry. Mr. Tshien is blind and didn’t realize.”As I grappled with the impossibility of Mr. Tshien even knowing we wanted to view screens, the young man impressively erased the miniscule cracks in the lacquer with floor wax polish.

Francine, Kelly and Fred Do Thailand

Note my high shoulders. Rather than suffering from compromised breathing due to an allergic reaction, I’m simply playing “silly ass” with Dad in Bangkok. Can’t remember why. I love this pic as it gives a glimmer into our relationship. He had a wicked sense of humor and delighted in sparking it in me. I do miss him.

After a few successful buying days in Chiang Mai, the largest city in northern Thailand, Francine decided that we needed a break. Now, you might think that would mean a trip to the beach. But no. How about a trip into a remote village in a wreck of a car not blessed with air conditioning? Excellent.

Pook, our gem of a Thai contact, drove with Francine riding shotgun, her face smushed up to the dashboard in a vain hope of getting some air. Dad and I were thrown together in the backseat blessed with faulty springs and no seat belts. Every time Pook hit a pothole we rocketed to the ceiling and slammed back down into a muddled heap. Dad quickly lost his keenness for this trip to the village.

But things were about to get much worse.

Rather than the anticipated scenario of lush growth, a quaint collection of huts and some gentle interactions with the locals, we pulled up to a roadside building ablaze with dozens of “Drink Coca Cola” ads.

My father took but one step inside and …

While you’ll have to wait for the book to learn the horrors contained inside that building, I will share that Dad never again joined us on an overseas buying trip. Once was enough.

Enough about that time Dad tagged along on an overseas buying trip, I’m curious about you. Have I changed your views on overseas buying? What’s your fave place to visit? Better yet, can you guess what horrors appalled our Fred? If you’d care to share, I’d love to hear.