Junque for Sale

Why is it some of us don’t have it in our blood to simply donate our junk and instead we insist on spending a day trying to suck a few dollars out of strangers? You spend weeks sorting, tagging, cleaning stuff in preparation, all the while you can’t remember where you got half the crap in the first place (until your mother points out you're selling the Christmas potholders she gave you last year). And I swear the saleable garbage multiplies while it’s sitting in a pile waiting for the chosen sale day.

Seriously, how can two people acquire so much unneeded/unwanted stuff?
We’ve lived in our current house for nearly five years and ever since we moved in we’ve had the grandiose idea of turning the former detached garage into a game room/gym. It already had the wood floors, new windows, French doors and most drywall up to quickly make the transformation when we moved in. But all these years later it’s packed with a startling amount of God only knows what.
Sure, there’s a pool table but that’s been in its box for at least two years, leaning against the south wall. Sure, there’s air hockey, which has been covered with cardboard boxes for nearly as long. Yes, there’s an entertainment center but you can’t reach any of the stereo components because there’s more junk blocking them. The workout equipment is now a storage unit with assorted items stacked on the cushioned bench and things dangling from the weight bars. But the dream is there.

So, finally with some time to dedicate to our own house for the first time in a long time, dollar signs in our eyes and thinner bodies on our minds, we recently started that process of getting ready for our porch sale. We’re pros by now. I think we have upwards of a half-dozen yard sales under our belts. Seriously, how can two people acquire so much unneeded/unwanted stuff?

Before the crack of dawn today we dragged our asses out of bed, threw on yesterday’s clothes and started setting up. The folding tables went up first and then the tedious process of carrying boxes out and unloading them into some sort of neat arrangement began while the sun was still rising.

Today was going to be a good day. We carefully chose it. It’s art festival weekend at the bayou down the street. Ever since we moved here we’ve been saying that’d be a great day for a yard sale. No advertising necessary. Our neighborhood streets are automatically flooded with customers who have to walk by our house to get to the art sale. We’ve seen it year after year. In year’s past we’ve even heard the sounds of festival-goers’ car doors slamming just outside our house before we even get out of bed. We’ve been to other people’s crowded sales. What a perfect day for a porch sale!

Well, not today. We weren’t too sleepy-eyed to notice this morning as we transformed our front porch into Grandma’s Attic Shoppe that the street was already filled with cars. But it wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet. It was much too early for money-packing art lovers. And they weren’t cars at all actually; they were vans and trucks, many with trailers attached. Even a camper was parked across the street. Vendors! They were taking up our customers’ spots. It turns out the Boys and Girls Club down the street now prohibits vendors from parking in their lot. And the city has designated certain streets and areas for vendors and “local traffic” only. Evidently, our street is one of those special parking places. Curses!

So, it’s nearly 2 p.m. and we’ve made $17, not subtracting the $2 garage sale permit and the cost of tags. This is our worst yard sale ever. But even as we prepare to start packing it in, we’re not about to give up. There’s a buck to be made. So next Saturday, advertisement in the paper, we’ll once again drag our butts out of bed before the rooster crows and peddle our unneeded/unwanted wares to a stranger or two. I’m certain someone has just got to have our Goodyear tire clock and Sonic Action Jewelry Cleaner. I’m already of dreaming of what we could buy for our new game room/gym with that $3.75.