I Hate Garage Sales

Yesterday morning I awoke to my dog having a conniption fit. Perched at the window, her violent outburst of rage was a signal of approaching evil. That bitch is an excellent judge of character and I trust her instincts. Trouble was brewing and I took appropriate action.

Then I saw the inspiration for her fury. Through the site of my deer rifle I could clearly resolve the high foreheads and greasy mullets of a tubby family waddling down my neighbor's driveway in search of crap. The inbred clan made their way into the maze of obsolete kitchenware and dangerous 1970's baby furniture in search of jeans that they could cut off into short pants or perhaps some expired medicine. My neighbors were having a garage sale.

What is the point of wasting an entire Saturday to make $31? Well, 31 bucks is 31 bucks, but when you consider that you have to place signs, drag all the shit outside, sit there in the sun and then drag the 70% that didn't sell back in, there is no value. Worse yet, you have to invite smelly strangers to your house and let them see your cool suff. Even worse, you have to haggle with some dillhole over a nickel for a working dustbuster!

You may have noticed that I seem to be well versed in garage sales. In college I bought everything for my apartment in garage and yard sales, leaving cash for drinking and chica chasing. Most of my distain came from watching my dad run a garage sale. He'd take a day off of work and we'd lug useless shit from the cellar and arrange it in the driveway. We'd sell the stuff that my dad deemed disposable, which is pretty much nothing. There'd be a broken faucet, a rusty pliers, a non-working electric toothbrush, a half bottle of vitamins. Nothing got a price tag.

People would walk up and say, "How much for this troll doll with the chewed leg?" and my dad would get up from his chair, pull at his belt, and wander over to tell the story about where the troll doll came from, how the leg got chewed, and why it is a rare item. Then he'd say, "ten dollars".

After the troll doll with the chewed leg was back in the box of crap where it had resided for 15 years with the exception of an annual Saturday in the sun, my dad would walk back to the garage, beaming with pride that he didn't get ripped off. "That sonofabitch wasn't going to walk with that thing cheap"...

The same scene was repeated over and over again. Dad spoke, eyes rolled back in heads and at the end of the day we'd count the zero dollars we took in and move everything back into the basement for another year.

One year he actually lost money because I was selling a 12" black and white TV for $5. He was so upset that I'd "give it away" that he bought it from me. It sits to this day on a shelf in the garage.

When I became a homeowner the wife talked me into a garage sale. I refused at first, but ended up doing it. The sale was to begin at 9 AM, but at 7 AM I awoke to a bunch of fat women in sleeveless shirts banging on my door to start shopping. I didn't even have the stuff in the garage yet! They insisted on seeing the items and proceeded to rummage through all of the boxes of stuff to be sold. It was insane. Later, a guy offered me a dime for a can of oil that was not for sale. I told him that I'd give him a quarter if I could shove it up his ass!

That day netted my wife $77, after giving away really cool shoes and clothes for 50 cents each. I took the leftovers, things that didn't sell, and put them on ebay and made $400.

The creepy family that sparked my dog's interest returned to thier truck with the Bush-Cheney '04 stickers with pudgy armloads of trinkets, gadgets and junk. I guess its just recycling. Still, a better alternative is to drop the box of stuff at the Salvation Army and take the tax write off. You don't have to waste a Saturday, you don't have to haggle with a creep, and you don't have to have some idiot treat you like an idiot.