The Pot Rack is modeled after the (very, very long) day we had at the Emmanuel yard sale. There was this one nice pot rack we were trying to sell, and after our dad left, my sister and I started talking, and eventually, all three of us (mom included) hand two fingers pressed to our temples in an imitation of Charles Xavier, staring at passers-by saying in low voices, "You want the pot rack," "This pot rack calls to you," "You love this pot rack," and "Buy the pot rack!" Then my sister got bored of Charles and went to Erik: "I'll just throw the pot rack at someone and shout, 'No regifting!', or slide it into someone's car when they're not looking." So periodically throughout the day (code for six hours straight) we'd sit there and do our Charles impressions and mentally scream with joy when somebody stopped and looked at it. Here is the fanfic-ed saga of the Pot Rack.

The Pot Rack

"What's in that box over there?" Erik asked Charles. They were setting up a couple tables for a yard sale, because they had a lot of things they didn't need, and didn't mind making some money getting rid of it.

"It's a pot rack." Charles answered, lifting it out of the box. Erik frowned at it.

"Put it over there, on the chair." He instructed, unpacking the last box. It was barely seven thirty before a lady, another vendor, came by and bought the Galileo thermometer they had, then at eight, an hour before the sale started, a jogger came by with his son and bought something.

"This is going well, I think." Charles commented, sitting behind the table. Erik, sitting next to him, looked over.

"And your turning into a lobster is going well, also." Erik grinned as Charles frowned at him. "I hope somebody takes that pot rack . . . I can't stand that thing."

"It'll go really quickly, trust me." Charles assured Erik, stretching out in his chair.

Ten o'clock came and saw the pot rack still basking in its chair. Erik glowered at it. "You said it would go quickly. So far, nobody has even looked at it. Can't you make them like it or something?"

"That's probably the worst of many bad ideas I've heard from you," Charles laughed. "No."

"Come on, Charles, please. It won't hurt." Erik pleaded. Charles resolutely shook his head. Erik subsided briefly to think of a plan to con Charles into it. While Erik was trying to con Charles, Charles was conning Erik. Pressing two fingers to his temples in his typical concentration pose, he mouthed, "Buy the pot rack, buy the pot rack" as a couple passed by. It was sheer luck that they stopped and looked at it. Erik sat up in his chair and clapped Charles on the shoulder.

"Thank you!" he said, but as the couple walked away, his enthusiasm faded. "You con artist, you," he grumbled. Occasionally, Charles would repeat his performance, just to annoy Erik.

By the time noon rolled around, though, he was ready to actually convince someone to buy the blasted pot rack. And at twelve thirty, Charles caved. He convinced a lady walking with her husband to buy the pot rack, and as she came over to the pot rack and started talking animatedly to her husband in a foreign language, Charles thought with confidence that the rack would be gone for good. However, the husband shook his head, and the wife's voice took on a tone of defeat. Clenching his jaw and looking away, Charles cursed the husband.

Only fifteen minutes later, Erik mused about how easily he could just slip the pot rack into someone's car, or, if all else failed, chuck it at the unfortunate victim. Charles shook his head again as Erik started to make the pot rack levitate. Charles left for a moment though to go break a twenty for change, and when he came back, he saw that the pot rack was gone. He was immediately suspicious.

"Erik, where is it?" he asked, frowning. Erik put on a perfectly innocent face.

"I have no idea. Someone came and bought it and put it in their car." He answered. Just then, a man started shouting and there was the sound of clanging metal on gravel.

"Where the hell did this pot rack come from?" he shouted. The vendor next to them stood for a better view of the commotion.

"Hey, man, isn't that your pot rack? It must've blown away." He said, then started yelling to the man with the pot rack. "It blew away! It belongs over here! Thanks, man!"

"Damn nosy guy," Erik said under his breath. Though Charles never would've said it aloud, he perfectly agreed. Charles and Erik tried a total of six times to get rid of the pot rack, but it returned to them every time, as if cursed. Finally, when the sale had ended and they had sold everything but that bloody pot rack, Charles sighed in defeat. Erik looked at him.

"Charles, I have one thing to say." Erik began.

"Yes?" Charles asked wearily.

"I'm never trusting you again."

Ha-ha. The pot rack didn't get sold, and is destined for donation at the local ReStore, if you were wondering. How'd you like it?