As a beefy woman blew cheap cigarette smoke on me—I guessed as a sly come-on—I got out of my car and stepped onto the very muddy parking lot.
An ever-slight, near muggy mist enveloped me as I walked through the lot of Mary’s Swap Meet, 7905 NE 23rd. It was at the non-existent gates that I fully realized this trip was going to be empirically… different.
Although it has been around since the late 1960s, this was my first trip to Mary’s, and man, forget Old Paris Flea Market, because if this borderline dirt-mall doesn’t have what you’re looking for, you probably don’t need it.
Setting the scene like an Italian post-apocalyptic film from the 80s, as soon as I walked through the free-standing posts that define its border, immediately I was met with cages of strong, muscular roosters, the true cocksmen of the barn, that were proudly crowing as a couple of men haggled over their purchase.
Little did I know, these chickens weren’t the only birds I would see. As I turned the corner past the fresh fruit-mongers and the open-carry gun-sellers, there was a caged menagerie of everything from baby suckling pigs to gorgeous, lush peacocks—shoved in tiny cages.
Everywhere I turned at Mary’s, a new and eclectic selection revealed itself in an increasingly survivalist light.
To the “neo-warrior” crowd's delight, Mary’s offered the destitute aura of a makeshift tough-guy vibe crossed with old west leather aesthetics. As this commingling totally drew me in and took me out, modern low-tech soldiers were presented with scads of military jackets and old saddles laid out on the dealers’ tables, all for a fair price, of course.
Sturdier lean-tos appeared as I continued on my journey. Mostly, these wares were of the “how is this thing brand-new?” tool-box variety, but there was also plenty of second-hand ladies wear, non-canon bootleg toys, and, the one that actually appealed to me—a comic-book store that mostly dealt with totally-ungraded, barely-bagged, and mercifully-priced one-dollar comics.
Money well spent, I guess.
But perhaps the best part of Mary’s—at least the part I truly cared about—was the sheer American carnality of the Mexican carnival of tastes.
On Boot Hill, smack dab in the center of the swap meet and preening with total cosplay energy, I found armies of hungry customers plodding along with Mexican snack treats like chicharrónes covered in hot sauce. Nearby, one-woman stalls catered elote, papas locos, and every flavor of aguas frescas to quench my dying thirst.
Sauntering through Boot Hill, there were also haberdashers, barbers, and, fittingly, bootblacks, in the structured stalls, which all really made me question emphatically, “What is Mary’s Swap Meet, and why have I never heard about it before now?”
As I was walking back toward the main entrance, I saw a lowly stall filled with paintings of Jesus Christ and Mary, the Holy Virgin. Looking over the sacred art, a calm, peaceful feeling came over me and I realized I didn’t have to understand Mary’s—it was there before me and, it seems, it will be there after.
You see, I was the interloper here. In all of my Oklahoma City-based travels, excursions, and roustabouts, never have I been to a place quite like Mary’s. It’s not a flea market, rummage sale, or marché aux puces, if you will, but its own thing, and that’s all it needs to be.
Taking a big bite of puffed-up duros on the gloomy trudge back to the car, I felt my fractured being become one with the sooty road, the greasy gun-oil, and all the exotic animal shit on my shoes. I found myself fully embracing Mary’s Swap Meet—the Holy Ghost of Unbelievable Savings—and the post-apocalyptic world the sellers, the buyers, and, admittedly, myself live in.
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Follow Louis Fowler on Instagram at @louisfowler78.
