Yard Sales

Last weekend our entire block held a multi-household yard sale. It was a lot of work and a lot of fun and I think each of us made a respectable heap of change.

Of course, there's plenty to be done before the big day: gathering up the goods, overcoming the guilt associated with tossing out some hideous item given to you by a friend or relative, pricing everything (not based on value, but what's it worth just to get it out of your life), organizing, advertising, and so on and so forth.

On the actual day you hover, somewhat self-consciously, beside the no-longer-loved contents of your home artlessly exposed for all to see. Before you know it, cars are driving up and hoards of people you've never clapped eyes on before are picking through your stuff.

Most of the early birds are 'professionals'; that is, people in search of particular items or people who buy at garage and yard sales only to re-sell the items the following week. The 'regulars'—like repenting gamblers—arrive with their 'garage sale money', a pre-set amount to prevent them from acquiring too many fondue sets or cupboard hinges.

It doesn't matter how low you price an item … genuine Wedgwood ashtrays for seventy-five cents … the punters want a better deal. And there you are at eight o'clock on fine a Saturday morning debating with some large burly man over twenty-five cents.

The exchange can volley back and forth several times until eventually one side or the other gives up, or, if you're lucky, the voice of reason whispers in your ear: 'you don't like these wretched things, remember? Are you really going to dig in your heels defending the long-deceased Josiah Wedgwood for twenty-five cents!'

And then there's the smartass who spills his coffee on a lampshade and asks if the price on the lamp is now going to be lowered. Are you kidding me!

At the end of a very long day (is it really only one o'clock!), only a few unwanted oddities remain.

'Funny, I really thought those bi-fold doors would be useful to someone … and no one picked up that floppy disc holder'.

My rule is that nothing is allowed to come back into my house after failing to launch at my yard sale. So, the first plan of attack is to park the leftovers on the front lawn with a huge 'FREE' sign beside them. This can provide a couple of days of entertainment as you discreetly watch people picking through the items. Often they seem fussier when it's free then when they have to pay for it, spending considerable time examining each item, consulting their companions, putting it back, picking it up, putting it back, picking it up … and eventually driving away.

There are also those who think post-yard sale pick-ups are like a drive-thru. These are the guys in large diesel trucks who cruise by, slowing down just enough to examine the detritus on the roadside from the comfort of their air-conditioned cabs. While their noisy, smelly engines run on, they stare critically at the offerings and, occasionally, extend a lazy arm through the driver's side window to grab something … oh darn, can't quite reach it … drive on!

And so, come Sunday night, after trying and failing to give it away, there's only one other place it can go: the dump.

Do not let it back into the house while it awaits its final destiny. Seriously, you haven't fixed the broken wings on that Christmas tree angel in seventeen years … what makes you think you're going to do it now in the middle of August!

… a few months later … whatever happened to that little pottery dish I used to rest my tea bag on? I can't seem to find it anywhere …