The oddball at OddMall -- when a craft fair is like middle school

Remember being back in middle school, and all you wanted was to fit in, get lost in the crowd -- not be picked last for dodgeball or sit alone at lunch?

That's how I felt this weekend at Oddmall, Seattle's first craft festival for unusual artists. There I was, in my colorful little booth (once again co-manned by Mr. Upcycler), all smiles and upbeat attitude. No dragons or Dr. Who or skulls here. And I stuck out like a sore thumb. No, even a sore thumb would've fit in better.

Early Sunday morning, we drove, bleary-eyed, to the convention center in Lynnwood, a very suburby-suburb north of Seattle. It's the last place you'd expect to see a body piercings and ceramic bongs.

Getting up early really takes its toll.

As we set up the booth, I checked out the other vendors. The couple on our left was low-key, their small table covered in an autumnal cloth and leafy garland. It was their very first fair. They gave off that first-day-of-school excited-scared vibe. She made soap and he sculpted motorcycles out of spoons. Teaspoons. Ok, that's a bit unusual but totally cool.

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down...the road.

The folks on our left were more experienced. They were the upperclassmen of the fair. We watched as their booth slowly took shape, box by distressed box. Out came glass bowls and jars. Up went the tall bamboo curtain. What could they be selling? Finally, the guy -- dressed in late 19th century garb -- unfurled a professionally produced banner. Carnivorous plants! Looking hungry and ready to sell in a booth styled like a Victorian arboretum. 

His credit card was rejected. 

The fair wasn't even open yet and already I felt like we'd be sitting alone at lunch.

Because our booth was pretty simple (and we'd practiced setting it up), I had time to tour the large venue and check out all the other vendors before the show opened. I admit it, I was looking for someone -- anyone -- as ordinary as I was.

I thought my shirt was pretty out-there and mod.

I saw piles of skulls. Sculpted skulls, screen-printed skulls, embossed-on-leather skulls, real skulls (I think). And lots of leather. Leather corsets, leather gloves, leather waist bags, leather vests. And everyone else had gotten the memo I'd missed. About black. Black cloaks and black boots and black lipstick and black ear gauges.

The extra "p" and "e" in the shop name makes everything ok.

It's bad when the alien is the most normal guy in the crowd.

I have to admit, I felt pretty cool just being part of such a hip crowd. Hip and young. Maybe I could finally get that tattoo! That's what I thought -- until the doors opened and the customers streamed in.

Was the Hardy Boys' Junk part
of your childhood?

My booth attracted the non-black-wearing folks. They'd stop and smile at one of my old book-turned-tablet-cases. "Hey, I read that!" Or "My parents got me that whole set of encyclopedias!" Often, they'd turn to their bored 10-year-old and say, "See, this is what I did when I was your age -- not spend hours staring at a screen playing video games." (No, you spent hours staring at a screen watching the Brady Bunch.)

Suddenly, I realized that my nostalgia-packed booth was the Lawrence Welk of OddMall. (That old-timey reference just proves my point.) Comforting and safe and asexual. OMG. I'm not even one of the students at middle school! I'm one of the lunch ladies!

Actually, both my grandmothers were lunch ladies -- and amazing chefs -- so I have no problem being one too. That's my tough, smart maternal grandmother on the far left. She lived to be 100!