Why I'm Dreaded My Yard Sale
This is only the third yard sale I've participated in as an adult. In the two weeks since we've known about it I've been thinking of it solely in the realm of the possible cash we'll net and the clean spare-bedroom closet we'll be left with. The magical thinking of my happy little mind completely skipped over the heavy cardboard boxes and piles of price-tag labels as if they were a high school cafeteria vegetable medley.
Now here I sit, mere moments from the (too early) arrival of the first Professional Yardsaler of the day. I'm steeling myself against the inevitableness of the next 8 hours.
If the past is any indication, our first customer will look like a cuddly grandparent but act like an IRS agent-slash-appraiser. Expensive leather photo albums that I'm selling for $3.00 (they retail for about $28) will be manhandled and scorned. Grandma Herbert Hoover will then look at me and say "I'll give you five dollars for 3 of these."
I fell for that the last time we did this. I was so enchanted by the thought of someone handing me a five dollar bill for some crap out of my spare bedroom that I said "sure!" This time I know better. This time I'm biting my tongue so I don't say what I want to say.
So I'm allowing myself to say here what I can't say to the people in my driveway this morning.
1. This is not Marrakesh. I've already priced these things ridiculously low. I've already dickered with you in my head and put my rock-bottom price on the tag. Suck it up.
2. Honestly, if you cannot come up with a full dollar for that brand new package of $12 stationery then just walk away. I won't starve if you don't give me a buck.
3. Why would I sell you my lawnmower? Look around, Oppenheimer. Do you see even one other mower in this garage? Better yet, look at that lawnmower. See how it's pushed back behind several shelves, has a smattering of grass clippings stuck to it and has no price tag? Those are all firm indicators that it is not for sale.
4. I know you've been to my neighbours' houses already. I know one house in particular puts their literal actual physical garbage out and asks outlandish prices for it. I understand that you don't want to pay $10 for a child's old push toy, especially when the handle is broken and you can reach in and pull the little pop-up balls out from the plastic dome. But the stuff I've put out is good retail merchandise that I have from when I worked in that industry. Don't act like I'm a draconian money changer for asking more than a quarter apiece.
5. I hate you.
6. If you have to wear one of those allergy masks, then maybe going to yard sales shouldn't be your primary hobby. Things at yard sales can be dusty. I myself have bad allergies. You can not con me into giving you things cheaper because you "feel an attack coming on."
7. Seriously. I hate you.
8. This yard sale ends at 2:00. Your chances of me dickering on price are greatly increased if you are here at 1:30 and I don't feel like hauling the boxes of stuff back upstairs. It is now 5:30 am. This is a dicker-free zone.
There. I feel better. I'm still probably going to end up selling things for dumb prices. But at least in my head I'm happy.
UPDATE Just look at that title. What?!? Lovely "pick whatever tense you want" writing, huh? What can I say? It's 4:00 in the morning. And Blogger doesn't have a Grammar check. Not that I'd use it if it did. Speaking of grammar check, you know who's always finding the grammatical errors in my post? My mom. And she's a grandma. So it cracks me up that I get a real Gramma Check from time to time. Gramma, trust me. You can try and try but I'll never be able to learn the difference between lay and lie. (See! It rhymes!)