Yuppies hop on ‘junking’ bandwagon

I’m of the firm opinion that if the “Gallant Hood of Texas” and his Confederate Army of Tennessee could have looked into the future and seen Franklin, Tenn., today, they would have all thrown down their muskets, hit Interstate 65, headed home, and just let the Yankees have it.

Every time I drive through Franklin, I see these folks strolling through the downtown area, each one of them with a $10 cup of coffee in one hand and their cell phone in the other. Some of them are from the North and some are from the South, though, I wouldn’t dare call them Southerners, as a Southerner is proud to let people know they are from the South. The others may have been born in the South, but they do everything in their power to hide the fact. They pick up a faked brogue, over-enunciate every word, poke fun at the true Southerners, and like to overuse the phrase, “The war is over,” while laughing uncomfortably, hoping no one will rat them out as actually being from the South.

For lack of a better term, I’ll call these folks yuppies.

I enjoy the yuppies, as they are always on the cutting edge of fashion and know just where to get the best calorie-friendly meal. I have several friends that fall into this group and, whenever I want to see them, all I have to do is find the current “happening” place and there they’ll be. But, that’s the thing. The happening place is always changing.

Usually, the yuppie hub is some hip downtown area with a coffee shop. Now, thanks to shows like “American Pickers,” “Storage Wars,” and “Auction Kings,” junking or antiquing is the cool thing to do, causing the yuppies to invade my home turf.

Visiting my favorite antique store is something I usually do every Sunday afternoon. The way the store is situated along the railroad tracks and the items found inside all take me back to a bygone era. Once upon a time, our country produced quality items and was not just an importer of what was needed. It brings me comfort to look at what’s for sale in the antique store, but I also hope that one day America can once again produce items that will last 50 years or more.


On my last visit to the antique store, I couldn’t make a move without stepping on a yuppie. I’m like a bull in a china shop anywhere I go, but with that many yuppies hanging around, my clumsiness was increased tenfold. I just had to leave.

When I got into the pickup, I sat and thought for a moment. Was I a yuppie? Was it possible?

I do go to several yuppie places and, like I said, I know several of them, but does that make me guilty by association? Surely not after all, I prefer boot-cut jeans to skinny jeans, my food fried to steamed, my hands calloused to manicured, and my idea of treating myself to coffee is a 50 cent cup at the gas station. The fact that I drive an old truck and not a fancy car that costs five times my yearly salary is also very telling.

I turned to the lovely Kayla sitting on the truck seat beside me and asked, “Am I one of those people?”

She immediately burst into laughter, shaking her head no. Then, she said, “Honey, you were junking when junking wasn’t cool.”

She hit the nail on the head. While the yuppies may find junking “cool” today, tomorrow another idol will come along to displace it and I will, once again, “junk” in peace.