It takes a certain person to appreciate garage sales. I'm not one of them. Never
have been. Never will be. Not that I haven't tried.
I did experience what I suspect is the typical garage sale rush when a friend, a
garage sale professional, took me "garage saling" for the first time.
It was the McDowell Mountain's biannual garage sale and I was told, it is not a
typical one.
Sidewalks were filled with toys that looked like they had left the shelves of
Toys "R" Us only minutes before. The clothes were crisp and colorful.
I was looking for a baby jumper seat and, after spending a fortune on my first
child, wanted to save on something that would become useless in one year.
We spied one from the curb. My friend stealthily drove by. Not to appear overly
eager, we stayed in the car, but I was panting like a puppy for the jumping
chair. Like a GT model car, it was loaded with all the extras.
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We snagged the $25 chair for just $15. It was a definite adrenaline rush.
The experiences of that day, and my neighbor's news that she made $1,000 with
her garage sale, led me to plan what I dubbed "my first and last garage sale."
It started the way most garage sales do - hording. Things I would ordinarily
give away or throw in the trash suddenly appeared with flashing dollar signs in
my mind.
Carriages, car seats, a beautiful wooden high chair, an Oshkosh bassinette, a
rotating swing, and yes, the infamous jumpy chair (minus the gadgets that were
bitten off) were stashed away.
Garage sale merchandise was stuffed into closets throughout the house and pushed
into garbage bags in the garage.
Two weeks before the big day, the preparations intensified.
I purchased price stickers for $5.99; special pens, $3.99; signs, $3; newspaper
ad, $21.
Thoroughly organized
Night after night I sorted through stacks of clothes, toys, furniture, socks,
dresses, shirts, books, tapes according to category and price and then moved
them from one room to another, eventually landing them back in the garage.
I was in the hole $34 the day of the sale, but had visions of making as much as
$2,000.
We were up at 5 a.m. on G-day setting up four tables. I was still laying out
piles of clothes, including beautiful snowsuits from Switzerland, when the
first customers, a car full of woman, descended. They sniffed around, sorted
through the books and tapes, and quickly left.
I put out a lemonade stand with a cash register for the kids (24 cents a cup)
while my husband set up music.
A few people came and went. No sales. Then, a pregnant woman climbed out of her
car.
"Ah, my target audience," I thought. She browsed, looking down her nose at my
items like a Nordstrom shopper in a Kmart store. Then she gave me some good
advice.
"All of your stuff is overpriced," she barked. "The books should be 50 cents, or
$1. The CDs should be $1. And see that fence over there, I got it the other day
for $6."
Lemonade down to 15¢
I ran around slashing prices just one hour into the sale. Even the lemonade went
down to 15 cents.
Professor Garage Sale and her yet-to-be-born bargain hunter eventually handed
me $20 and left with nearly $200 worth of merchandise.
And that's how it went.
Frighteningly frugal people nickel-and-dimed me into a depression like I have
rarely felt. A beautiful sweater that I rarely wore when I was pregnant and a
two-piece pants and top were priced at $1 each.
"I'll give you $1 for both," said a woman with three children.
"No," I replied.
Then, what began as a vague sense of annoyance mushroomed into something clearly
resembling anger.
There I was, on a Saturday morning, spending my time with people who would only
begrudgingly hand me 25 cents for name brand, high-quality clothes and other
items.
I stopped bargaining, on the principle that I would rather keep the stuff, even
trash it, than let some tightwad walk off with it for a buck.
Earning my wings
Then an angel walked onto my lawn at 10 a.m., when I was shutting down for the
day.
No, she wasn't an angel in the sense that she spent the remaining $850 to put me
at my goal.
Her title came more from what she said than what she spent.
"I had a garage sale a month ago," she said, as the sun was getting stronger and
I sadly repacked a three-piece Gap outfit that made me cry when my baby wore
it.
"I had great stuff, name brands, but the people who came didn't even understand
the value of what I had," she continued.
I listened up.
"It was a complete waste of time," she said.
It was a bit of a balm for an otherwise bruised heart.
I continued to pack up, putting aside a toddler hat with reindeer antlers for my
neighbor's two children.
The rest I put in plastic bags to give to charity.
As I had predicted, it turned out to be my first and my last garage sale.
But I actually found comfort in that.
If it were anything but that, I would have to repeat the dreadful experience
again.
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