Garage sale. Ours. The last one.
I've been told that our little town is the capital of yard sales. To me that equates with saying, "This is a town where people go crazy over buying each other's junk." Probably not what we'd want to highlight about our little spot on this earth.
While it's quite possible that I saw my first yard sale in this town, the first yard sale I remember was in southern California some 20 years ago. We were planning to take the eighth graders on their Washington D.C. history trip, and the class was very large. Flying from Ontario, California to Washington D.C. is expensive, and not all the families could afford it. The room mothers devised a plan for fundraising so as to avoid pointing out the "haves" and the "have-nots." Families would confidentially pay whatever they could to the school office, and everyone was expected to chip in and help raise the funds to cover the rest of the tickets and expenses, whether they had paid full fee or not. It seemed like a good plan.
One of the early fundraisers was an all-school yard sale.
Consider the magnitude of it all! The families of 350 students were invited to bring items to the school for the yard sale, which was to begin at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday. The donations stacked up quickly, the mothers and fathers got to work sorting and organizing, and the day of opportunity dawned bright and clear. I arrived at the school at six o'clock, and there were already cars lining the street, and people waiting for the gate to open. Naïve as I was, I was shocked. People lined up waiting to get in at a yard sale? At 6 a.m.? WHY???
Some kind soul explained to me that there are people who go yard sale hopping as a hobby. Later I found out that die-hard yard sale shoppers pick up deals which they can later resell on eBay. I get the distinct feeling that there's a whole commercial subculture out there within the world of yard sales.
And not only a commercial subculture, but the world of yard sales is also characterized by a social subculture that can get ugly. That morning in California, people waiting at the school gate rushed in the minute the gate was opened and started frantically picking through the items on the tables, eager to get first picks. They were recognizably analogous to hungry vultures. The tables which had supported tidy piles of clothing and items, were soon a mess of clothing and knickknacks flung hither and thither in a mad scramble to find the desirable items, the good deals. I observed a distinct and distressing dearth of dignity.
Fast forward to today. Tending our own little yard sale this morning, I found myself bemused by the kinds of people who came by and what they wanted. These are not the people of my usual university milieu. Three Latina women drove up in three separate cars, dressed to the nines, seeming to know each other as they picked through the stuff, their voices shrill with adrenaline. They tried to bargain me down to half price on everything. For some items I was negotiable, and for others, not.
An older, casually dressed couple came by, very friendly and folksy as they looked at the various things and bought a few. Shortly after they left I noticed that several things were gone which they had expressed interest in, but had not paid for. Blast it!
Two older women came by. One bargained for a broken suitcase I had set out there, and for Husband's old posters in inexpensive frames. I had agreed to a dollar for a poster. The woman handed me the money for the suitcase and an extra dollar for the poster, and then proceeded to load all four posters into the suitcase. And here is where I admit to being too timid to run a yard sale; I didn't stop her. (Sorry, Husband.)
Several people came by and seemed to pick out one or two random things within a minute or two, pay for them and leave. It was almost like they were determined to get something, anything, and left happy for having accomplished that. I was mystified, really. I could see no logic to what sold and what didn't. People bought scratched toilet seats but not low-priced, working stereo equipment and speakers. People bought old unattractive throw rugs, but not books. A lady bought a completely outdated analog TV and ignored a video player and DVD player. Someone purchased a little plastic-and-wood storage unit, but not a nice oak bookcase. People left with broken suitcases and ignored a brand-new chocolate fountain. A couple trotted off with an old vacuum cleaner (full dust bag still inside), and ignored a colorful, well-constructed nylon kite and string.
Let's face it, yard sales are not my strong suit. My priorities come from a different world, I guess. I made $80 off a morning of tending the yard sale and ended up with a new acquaintance in the lovely elderly Doris who lives up the street from us. But I also ended up abidingly angry at a couple of thieves who nipped off with unpaid-for loot, and have reached evening with a vague sense that I entered a third-world marketplace somewhere and got snookered.
I think next time I'll copy a page from my good friend Lois, who has sworn off yard sales, load up my stuff in my trusty SUV and take it to the community service center a half mile from here. The volunteers there will sell it under watchful circumstances, and the proceeds will go for a good cause. Yep. I'm done. I'm probably cultured enough without adding the yard-sale culture to my little collection of cultures in this life.
