This is for my friend Melanie and all of those other #garagesale warriors who have spent the last month sorting, laundering, disinfecting and pricing. Carry on brave soldiers...carry on.
Today is our village garage sale. I hate garage sales. I neither like shopping or selling. I am always certain that my purchase was made driven by some primordial urge to get one over on my fellow man. It matters not that they indeed are the one's who set the asking price but in order for me to buy I must believe that they have simply overlooked the value of a small, slightly chipped, turban shrouded figurine with an "Occupied Japan" stamp on the bottom. Not that I would know the value of a small, slightly chipped...well, you get the idea. Mind you, I have never found anything at a garage sale, flea market or pawn shop that came close to resembling a cash cow. I know some people do. For instance, just recently some guy found an original copy of the Declaration of Independence at a second hand shop, paid five dollars for it, it's worth millions. That will never happen to me for two reasons; I have no idea what I am looking for and I refuse to pay five dollars for anything used!
I also hate being the seller. I never know what to ask and I am always certain it's not enough or it's too much. I don't know how to bargain effectively and quite frankly if someone just showed up and hauled it all away, I would be happy. But that, my friends, is not how the game is played.
I sit here surrounded by stuffed animals, dolls and odds and ends that my husband hauled home. He initially suggested that I sell them on e-bay. He was certain that cabbage patch dolls, beanie babies and a talking Alf would most likely make me enough money to retire on. He, of course, has never seen e-bay. I tried to sell a couple of things on the highly touted site and, quite frankly, it was a lot of work. I explained to him that each item had to be photographed in a flattering light and position, up-loaded, priced and then, if you were fortunate enough for someone to give you $2.00 for a "brown horse with yellow mane" beanie baby, you then had to package it and ship it. So when the village garage sale was announced, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to unload the tacky treasure that had taken up residence in my living room.
We arrived early, set up our tables and distributed our mostly beanie stuffed wares. A beautiful, spring day. Traffic began steadily flowing past approximately an hour later. Cars, trucks, SUV's, new and old cruising, slowing....not stopping.
Now, here is the truly surreal part, I begin to take it personally. I am angered that they don't even have the common courtesy to stop and dicker with me. How do they know that my stuff isn't worth looking at? How dare they assume that there isn't something on one of the two tables or the cracked slab concrete sidewalk that they don't need! if anyone of them was e-bay savvy they could give me fifty cents each for the beanie babies, sell them for two dollars and make quite a little profit! But that's okay...What are you looking at Grandma...either buy something or just keep moving!
Two little girls come by on tricycles and I tell them each to choose a doll to take home and love. Within thirty minutes there are, of course, a gaggle of little girls standing before me and, of course, each leaves with the free doll or stuffed animal of their choice because that's the kind of hard bargain drivers we are at this table.
Don't get me wrong. I understand. Hope springs eternal. One never knows when one might just come across, well hidden among the beanie babies and the hand woven multi-colored pot holders that Abby made at summer camp three years ago, an original copy of the Declaration of Independence.
Or maybe at a time when milk is $3.00 a gallon and it took $20.00 dollars worth of gas just to get here, a stack of slightly worn, $.50 each t-shirts just to get the kids through the summer, might just be as rewarding.
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