Another Maavelous Day in the Suburbs

I once thought the perfect life would be the one lived in the country on a few acres of land with an old farmhouse and a barn full of animals. Our family never made it to that grass is greener on the other side place. However, one of my sisters lives in the country. As it turns out, that isn't the best location for making a killing off treasures that have been retired to closet or attic. Mainstream suburbia is where shoppers lurk, searching endlessly for deals. Every couple of years or so, sis yearns to swap stuff for cash. So, she brings all of her junk to my garage. Fashionista and I add a few items and wa-la- we take advantage of this life in the suburbs-with a garage sale.


Sis is always trying to entice garage salers to our sales. She believes large merchandise has the best road appeal and will draw people in. This year she ran an ad on Craigslist announcing we'd have a sofa set for sale, but she didn't actually have a sofa set to sell. Not wanting to disappoint, I decided to sacrifice our Lazy Boy hide-a-bed and a loveseat-the family room furniture. While sis and Fashionista heave hoed the seating out to the garage, I dreamily leafed through the IKEA flyer I'd just received in the mail. Surely I'd make enough and we'd update the look of the family room. Just to be sure, I added to the sale two pet rabbits complete with hutch and extra cages.
On Thursday at 4:00 pm the garage door lifted and we were open for business. We were trying something new-a night before the real sale preview sale. We got about three customers and $1.50, but then nothing. Nobody else. The neighbor across the street came wheelin' in from work, so I asked him, "hey did you see our sign?" He wasn't sure, "Does it look like a bunch of duct tape on a stick?" Lackadaisically, we'd stuck our pathetically small signs on pencil thin garden stakes with knock off duct tape from the dollar store. Also the weather was a bit blustery.

The Malibu and I retraced the sign route. I found duct tape flapping in the wind on metal skewers, but the garage sale signs were missing in action. One message remained, but every time the breeze picked up it did a 180 around the stick indicating the sale was being held on Broadview Drive one minute and Hollyhock Street the next.

That was enough garage sale for one evening.

Sis and I regrouped and decided to play a board game with her kids, Outside the Box, his girlfriend and Fashionista. Gathering in the family room, everyone looked around. Outside the Box verbalized what we all were thinking, "What are we gonna sit on?"

Friday morning we woke revitalized. I.T.-ologist had sawed the ends of two inch wide, flat, wooden sticks to a point, so we could easily drive them deep into the ground. We used larger, brighter colored poster board, thickened the font and taped the living daylight out of the backsides of those signs with reinforced packaging adhesive, securing them for life to the pointy sticks.

I hammered those hummers a foot deep into the earth's crust at every crossroad within a two and a half mile radius of our driveway. Just like Jimmy John's- the success was in the signs. A steady stream of shoppers flowed in and out of our garage all day.

Sis did the happy feet dance when her high ticket item- the rocker from Crate and Barrel- sold. The event turned bittersweet when suddenly there was a rush on rabbits. I'd been looking for a loving home for those little fertilizer factories for about two years, ever since I decided to join the working world. Sadly, I no longer had time for the cuddly bunnies. The first interested party asked me how much they weighed, but what I heard was: will they feed a family of four? No deal. Finally, after three more no deals, a 13 year old girl, who lived on a farm held the lop earred furballs, hugged and kissed each and proclaimed her love for them. To my delight she bought both Pudge and Margo, their hutch, 4 cages, 2 nesting boxes, food supply and water bottles paying me three times what I asked for the lot. Now that is what I call a deal.

Sometimes the deals are too good to be true. In our garage the dividing line between what is for sale and what isn't is made unmistakable by I.T.-ologist. He builds temporary walls to cover shelving where his tools are stored and hides his remaining valuables behind a barricade of boards toward the back of the garage. After that he disappears. I think he gets a little scared when we have these garage sales- probably because a few years back before one of our sales, I asked him if he had anything he wanted me to sell for him. He said I could sell that one weedwacker. "How much?" I asked. He said, "Cheap." I looked around the garage, spied a weedwacker and put it out in the driveway to attract male buyers. The very first guy on the scene asked, "How much for the weedwacker?" I said, "One dollar." His eyes dilated and he grabbed it, smiled and gave me the buck. It's heartwarming to make someone's day like that.

Later after work, I.T.-ologist decided to whack a few weeds. He asked with a slight tremor of lip, "Where's my weedwacker that was hanging on this hook right here?" I said I sold it. Cheap. One dollar. Come to find out, I.T.-ologist had recently taken a weedwacker out of some guy's trash thinking he might fix it one day. The other weedwacker- he had just purchased on sale at the hardware store for $99.00. You'll never guess which one I sold.

This year's mishap was not so costly. I.T.-ologist phoned from work. I asked him about the wheelbarrow full of firewood he'd put in the driveway. How much should I sell that for? He reminded me of the mom and pop operation out by the entrance ramp to the highway. There, grandkids sell bundles of wood, less logs in number than were currently in the wheelbarrow, for ten bucks. So, considering the value of the wheelbarrow, we should get at least $10 for the whole shebang. No problem. I hung up. Then I went downstairs to grab a few more math books to sell. When I got back out to the garage I couldn't see the wheelbarrow. I said to my sister with real fast words,
"Where'sthatwheelbarrow!"

She smiled proudly, "I just sold it!"

I gulped, "how much?"

"Two bucks!" Another happy customer.

After the sale, we counted up the money. We were only $20.00 short of what our calculations told us we should have in hand. Not bad. (bookkeepers we are not) Sis and I split the loss. Everyone else who had contributed items to the sale got their fair share, except I.T.-ologist who got almost his fair share.

Remains of the day boxed up for Goodwill, I waved good-by to sis and the kids as they drove off. Time to relax. But just inside the back entryway, my eyes fell on a purse that did not belong to me. I quickly phoned sis, "you forgot your purse." She turned around, sped back, picked it up and I waved good-by again. Five minutes later I was answering the ring-a-ling. Sis again. She mumbled something about being out of gas.

"Yeah, me too," I sighed into the receiver. These sales are exhausting. But then:

"No, Heidi, my car, we ran out of gas at 36th Street. It's right by a farm, but the guy who lives here says he only has diesel," she sounded helpless.

Everyone else in this family had gone off to do their own thing. I was looking forward to the time alone- to blog. But sisters do not leave sisters stranded on roadsides. Good thing I didn't sell the red plastic gas can. I drove to the station, filled 'er up and headed to 36th . Gas in her tank, kids belted in, I waved good-by for the third time and made tracks back to my house.


I added up the day's values:
Loveseat $35.00
Math books $15.00
Rabbits and gear $30.00
Lazy Boy hide-a-bed $65.00

So, we'll watch television from the floor for a while. Doesn't matter- because it was another maavelous day in the suburbs.

Heidi