As soon as I saw it, I knew it had to be mine.

At first glance, it looked like an old-fashioned lawn chair from my youth. You remember (or maybe you don’t if you’re under the age of 30) the ones with the weaved fabric backing and aluminum frame.

The bright yellow material had faded, but this lawn chair’s appeal was more function than form.

While the faded backing remained intact, the same couldn’t be said for the seat. It had been, let’s say, modified.

Gone was the original fabric, replaced with a plywood frame. And resting inside that frame was none other than a toilet seat.

That’s right: this previously ordinary, run of the mill lawn chair had been repurposed into a symbol of redneck engineering at its finest.

It had been transformed into a poop chair.

And it was going to be mine. But first, I had to win a competition shrouded in capitalism.

I had to win it …at an auction.

I’ve been a sucker for a good auction for years. I absolutely love them from the variety of items, the bargains to be had, and the thrill of making a winning bid.

Much to my wife’s disdain, I’ve come home with some real doozies.

There was The Big Green Monster, a 1976 Ford Ranger with a 3-speed on the floor that cost $400. After using it a few years hauling brush, I turned around and sold it for $750.

I remember once surprising my wife with eight, five-gallon buckets, all filled with pears. I really only wanted the buckets and the fact they were filled with pears seemed like a bonus.

Unfortunately, the pears were neither ripe nor tasty, and about seven buckets of them were hauled off in the Big Green Monster to the landfill. But hey, eight five-gallon buckets for $5 still seemed like a great deal to me, pears or no pears.

But there is no doubt which purchase ranks as my favorite of all time: A manual Ferris Wheel.

Speaking of redneck ingenuity, this one takes the cake. It’s a metal concoction someone welded in their garage and stands about 10 feet tall. It includes a couple tractor seats and requires a little muscle to hold it in place as the two riders are seated.

But once they are seated, the fun begins. If the riders are big enough, they can actually run through and keep the Ferris Wheel spinning on their own. For the smaller riders, someone has to spin the wheel, like a vertical merry-go-round.

My wife couldn’t get too mad at me for that purchase as she was there. We agreed beforehand not to spend more than $25. But once someone bid $30, she had caught the auction fever.

“Keep bidding” she urged. So I did and for a mere $50, we got to take home a Ferris Wheel.

A dozen years later, the Ferris Wheel is located at grandma and grandpa’s farm and has been a source of countless hours of fun for children and adults alike. And much to my wife’s surprise, not a single rider has gone to the emergency room or even urgent care. At least, not yet.

Which brings me back to the poop chair. It spoke to me much like The Big Green Monster and the Ferris Wheel.

I maintain there’s an art to buying items at an auction. Or maybe it’s a science. I don’t know. But I’m certain there is a right and a wrong way to bidding and I’m an expert. Or at least, that’s what I tell my wife. Whether it’s true or not is a matter for debate.

Regardless, I have my strategies and one thing I’ve learned is you never, ever, make a bid on the auctioneer’s first price.

So when David Thornhill made his typical speech touting the benefits and wonderment of this particular item, I knew he wasn’t serious when he started the bidding at $10.

Apparently, he knew it as well because it took about 11 seconds to drop the bid to $1.

Now he was talking my language.

My hand went up immediately. Could I be so lucky to get this piece of engineering marvel for such a low price?

Nope. I soon heard $2. So I bid $3. Then came $4.

Alright, now I was at the crossroads. My wife is very patient with me when I come home with something she deems as junk …but she has her limits. And $5 is probably exceeding that limit.

But this thing not only had a plywood frame for the toilet seat itself, it also had one in the front. I think I heard David call it a splash guard.

Good enough for me. The hand went up for $5.

And just seconds later, I heard the words I craved: “Sold! And your number sir?”

It was mine. The conquest was complete. The poop chair was coming home with me, but not without one more admonition from Mr. Thornhill.

“That’s the shi***iest chair we have ever sold.”

That may be true. But in my Auction Hall of Fame, it ranks somewhere between the Big Green Monster and some fancy sewing machine I got for my wife last year.

And while it may not have the appeal of The Ferris Wheel, I guarantee I’ll get $5 worth of laughs out of it.

Gregory Orear is the General Manager/Editor of the Lincoln County Journal, Elsberry Democrat and Troy Free Press. You can contact him at gorear@cherryroad.com, or just look for the tall skinny guy in bib overalls at the next local auction.