The Saga of the Garage Sale - Final Chapter

I watched them load it into the truck…a single tear running down my cheek. That dining room hutch had survived my first marriage, a gift from my parents. And now it was gone, in a single “garage sale moment”.

And so the saga continued. After weeks of preparation and purging, the big day had finally arrived. THE sale. I found out the serious garage-sale-partakers don’t take a late start very lightly.

I was woken up around 8am by a series of horn honks and a few shouts. I pushed my husband hoping he’d take the first duty but to no avail. So I bounded out of bed – if one can bound in slow motion – threw on my sweats, put my hair in a pony tail and ran – well, ok, walked, to the garage. As I watched garage door slowly rise, it revealed several pairs of shoes that I knew I wasn’t selling. The shoes ended up being attached to the feet of some very impatient people – most of them donning fanny packs and knee socks.

I mumbled something incoherent, since I still had not had my coffee, and moved out of the way as they pushed their way into the garage, pawing at my stuff. Now I know why they call it a “rummage” sale. I tried not to take it personally as they passed over table after table of treasures; treasures that had been lovingly piled onto a display that read “Everything on this Table 25¢”. I also had one for 50¢, $1.00 and even 10¢. Piles and piles of junk adorned my garage.

Let me tell you something interesting about human nature. Nothing on the 10¢ table sold. Until I moved it to the 50¢ table…and all of a sudden it had value. I spent all day moving stuff from table to table. It was fun to play with the minds of the repeat visitors. I had one guy look at some stuff, put it down, and walk to his truck. When he glanced back and saw someone else pick up the same stuff, he ran back and grabbed it from their hands yelling it was already sold.

When my husband finally did join me, he almost tripped on the pile of stuff I had laid aside on the steps down to the garage.

“What’s all this stuff?” he said. “Why isn’t it on one of the tables?” I sheepishly told him it was stuff that I couldn’t bear to part with. It was a hard day. There was one incident where I almost tore a pair of little baby shoes out of a woman’s hand. But I swallowed hard and looked the other way as she handed me her change. They were my granddaughters. I told her to give them a good home. That’s also what I told the parents that bought my hutch. They said it was for their young daughter – and they knew she’d love it. I told her that I was glad it was going somewhere nice…I almost felt like we were completing a transaction for an adoption.

But alas, the sale is over, my garage is clean again, and the rest of the stuff will be donated to the Goodwill. And I will use my newfound money to buy more stuff. And so the cycle continues.