My high school guidance counselor once told me that no matter how bad things got, the world would always need doctors, garbage men and grave diggers. Things have gotten bad. The world still needs doctors, garbage men and grave diggers but now it needs a whole lot of storage facility workers.

I hadn’t noticed how many self-storage facilities are in Washtenaw County until recently. Sites cover acres with concrete and steel, sprouting innumerable indoor and outdoor units. A quick Google search brings up a long list of facilities in the area. Affordable Storage. Maple Village Self Storage. Stop ‘n Lock Self Storage. American Value Storage.

A recent report listed the homelessness rate in Washtenaw County at over 1,200 in 2009 while foreclosures have increased 105 percent from 2006-08 and evictions topped 700 for the first nine months of the year. These people can live with friends or family, in temporary housing or on the street but where does all their stuff go?

As living situations have deteriorated and things have gotten worse, more people are turning to storage facilities as a way-station for their worldly possessions during foreclosures, evictions and relocations. Rental fees at storage facilities are not necessarily steep, but $50+ a month adds up. When individuals and families can’t afford to make monthly payments on their storage units, these facilities becomes especially bleak.

If an account is in arrears, storage facilities usually put their own lock on the client’s unit to prevent access unit payment is made. When accounts go into default, storage facilities recoup their losses by auctioning off the contents. They don’t do this maliciously - it’s business - but the situation is depressing nonetheless.

Recently, I attended one such auction at a local storage facility to see firsthand how bad things have gotten. I pulled up to the storage facility on a cold morning and parked near a sign with a big yellow arrow and a thick, red font advertising “Auction!” The auctioneer stood near the storage facility office in a reversible hunting vest and camoflage baseball cap, handing out sheets of paper that listed all the auctions in the area for that day. Some facilities had two units on the docket, a few had five or more.

“Damn it’s cold this morning,” a woman with big hair holding an oversized plastic mug of something steaming said to no one in particular. Bidders trickled in slowly, milling near the office until they numbered more than 20.

At the appointed time, the man in the hunting vest led us to storage unit 437 and explained the rules of the auction. 1) You are bidding on all the items in the storage unit. 2) You have 48 hours to remove the items from the unit. 3) You may not enter the unit or touch any of the items within the unit until you make the winning bid.

“You ready?” he asked, removing a red lock from the unit and sliding open the loud metal door. The anticipation of what you might see is like a depressing Kinder egg. It could be packed to the roof with junk, it could be full of old lawn mowers or it could be stocked with the worldly possessions of a family down on its luck.

Unit 437 was empty except for two cream colored couches wrapped in opaque plastic.

“Awww, they don’t even have cushions,” someone said. The auctioneer began the bidding at $5, using the extra-fast cadence of the Micro Machine Man. The price rose to $15 before stalling and unit 437 went to a man in paint spattered jeans with gold rings on the majority of his fingers.

The bidders are varied, but most have some affiliation with the Gibraltar Trade Center (http://www.gibraltartrade.com/). They are bargain hunters looking to secure quality goods at discount prices and flip them for profit. Most of them work in teams of two and are familiar with each other. There are in-jokes, lots of shop talk and every other bidder carries a high-powered flashlight with a pistol grip handle. As a group they look like shabbily dressed urban prospectors.

We proceeded to an extra large unit, number 181/182. This unit had two doors, one of either side of a long row. The auctioneer began on one side, unlocking the door and sliding it up its rails. It caught on something solid and a tricycle clattered out of the unit and landed at the feet of the auctioneer. He shoved it back into the unit with his foot and the bidders surged forward to catch a glimpse of a space stacked six-feet high with a family’s possessions.

The unit was cluttered with new-looking children’s toys, a kid’s bed, golf clubs, tools, a washing machine, board games and an eerie half-size novelty coffin full of sporting goods. After a few minutes of jostling and neck craning, a lawnmower, a dryer and three empty 40 oz. bottles of Cobra came into view.

Bidding opened at $600 but no one budged. When the price dropped to $500, a man with a wiry white mustache raised his hand. The auctioneer tried to push the price higher to no avail. Sold for $500.

The bidders hustled to their vehicles, mostly vans with signs on the sides reading “Guitars Wanted” and “We Buy Your Stuff”. A few make hushed calls on their cell phones trying to get the inside scoop on what might await them in units they’d be visiting later that morning.

The winning bidder on the $500 unit walked into the office with the auctioneer where they handled payment. The storage facility took 80% of the proceeds, while the auctioneer pocketed a 20% cut. The man with the wiry white mustache pulled a thick wad of cash out of his pocket and peeled off hundred dollar bills while his giant pistol grip mag-light tucked into his rear pocket weighing down his pants.

“Did you see that tree stand?” the mustachioed man asked. “There was a road grader too. I gotta be able to get $75 for that. You see the gun case, underneath the bow and arrow? That pipe wrench has to be $40 too.” The auctioneer nodded. “Those toys looked brand new too.” The auctioneer tucked his commission into his back pocket and walked outside while the man with the mustache flipped open his phone and made a call.

“Yeah, I hear they have seven units available,” he said as he walked out of the office. “I just got a tree stand,” he said, as the door shut behind him.

(Richard Retyi occasionally writes for AnnArbor.com. Contact him at richretyi@gmail.com)