Last weekend was our neighborhood garage sale event. A local church hosts it, and a few houses on every block join in to get in on the foot traffic. As much as I love shopping at Goodwill and resale shops, I HATE garage sales.
I hate them like dogs hate storms, like cats hate being reasonable, like Shakespeare hates happy endings, like Vee hates Red.
You get the idea.
I hate the intimacy of it, invading someone’s territory, their home, and looking at their personal items of their life.
from twindraggonflydesigns.com |
You get the idea.
I hate the intimacy of it, invading someone’s territory, their home, and looking at their personal items of their life.
Right in front of them.
They watch for your reaction, you can hear them thinking:
Do they like my crap?
Are they going to buy my crap?
Why? Why not?
I LOVED this thing, this insignificant thing that has so many memories, why would anyone not want to have this?
I also have a touch of PTSD from the garage sale I had to help my father with. That’s a long story, I started to write about it until the shaking overcame my ability to operate a keyboard.
Mayhaps with enough time and the right medications I will be able to finish that story, but the moral of that story:
It was a terrifying day and has left me scarred for life hating garage sales, and in mortal fear of certain garage sailers.
I previously didn't know these were a thing.
The Early Birds.
They come BEFORE it even opens. Sometimes hours before your POSTED SIGN says you're going to open. They don't care, they need to look NOW.
The Negotiators.
Working lamp for a dollar? Oh no, honey, I can do better than that. Just so I can brag about it later to people who don't give a shit. Nothing like The Priceline Negotiator, who is delightful.
Slay Daddy. from allwomenstalk.com |
Okay, I can't think about that, let's just get right to the story.
Last weekend, the neighborhood sale.
We usually take the kids in the stroller and will look over at least a few. We need a lot of things for the house, the kids will always need clothes, bikes, etc., that we would rather get used. I don't enjoy enduring these home-hosted flea and potentially bedbug markets, but I suffer quietly, as my dad taught me to do.
We happened upon a garage sale 2 blocks away, with items laid all up the driveway and in the garage. Then I noticed a 2nd smattering of items on the opposite end in the lawn. That initially didn't strike me as odd. I'm not a logistics person.
A double camping chair, WITH DRINK HOLDERS (as all good camping chairs should have) caught my husband’s eye, and I started chatting with the homeowner as he took it out of the box to see how hard it was to operate.
Meanwhile, she was really trying to push an old fashioned Pepsi cooler, which was very interesting but not a thing we can realistically have, or store. We don’t have room to store large non-essential items.
This was the size and SHAPE, the picture above, but it had the old logo from the 60's or 70's I guess. I tried to find one and got lost in a Pepsi logo tangent. I can't believe how many different logos they've had.
from pepsiman.50megs.com |
from huntersproject.weebly.com |
Fun fact: Caleb Bradham was a pharmacist that made up the Pepsi formula in his drug store. He later renamed his drink to Pepsi-Cola because of the pepsin and cola nuts. Five years later Pepsi-Cola received it's first logo.
Look, how 80's-tastic is this one? Radical.
Look, how 80's-tastic is this one? Radical.
from blog.signalnoise.com |
Reminded me of Crystal Clear Pepsi, remember that? When that came out, Saturday Night Live did a "Crystal Clear Gravy" commercial that was hysterical.
from howtobeawesome.org |
Okay, tangent Pepsi logo trip over.
Bringing back in.
Bringing back in.
We do not have room for this cooler and frankly if I were going to spend any money on a giant cooler, it better look like R2D2.
I want a PBR from R2's head |
If I were crafty I might have painted the Pepsi one, but it may be a collector item, and as my sister often says: If your aunt had balls she’d be your uncle so why talk about IFs.
The point is, I REALLY did not want this giant-ass soda cooler, and for some reason I started to feel guilty about it.
Something in her face and her sense of urgency was making me feel an inexplicable sadness.
I explained that our house is not really a “party house,” we just knew we wanted a house in my son’s school district, and we had X budget and the only house we could afford in the area with 2 bathrooms is not exactly a house to have big parties in. We had hoped to move up North by now, closer to my husband's work.
She explained that’s why they bought the cooler, for parties. They used it ONE TIME when they first got it, but never had a party with it. Now she has to move to a ONE-BEDROOM APARTMENT, so she has to get rid of most of her things. That’s the way she said it, I have no issue w/living in something of that size.
Like the awkward idiot I am, I filled the following uncomfortable silence with that information.
“I lived in a small apartment for almost a year, it was SO EASY to clean that whole place. Sometimes I really miss that. And no yardwork, no weeds!”
She gave me a half-smile that said 'Thanks I guess,' and added that it's not her choice to move out, they're getting divorced. I started babbling something between an apology and "Shit Happens" when my my husband brought the camping chair over and said we would take it. She explained they NEVER used it, tags were still on it, they were supposed to go camping and never got the chance, and my husband wisely asked about another item.
That other item, whatever it was, was also NEW in the package, they never did use it. My husband asked something from the other pile. She told us that the other side of the lawn was a whole separate sale.
She used broad sweeping movements to show us how everything on this side was hers, and everything on that side should be paid separately to the girls on that side.
I started to put this together. His And Her Divorce Garage Sale.
I just stared at her. I tried to stop the train of Stupid that was chugging up my throat, but it had boarded, picked up steam from somewhere and it was too powerful to stop.
Out they came.
"You're having a combined garage sale?"
She nodded: Yes.
Again my mouth vomited words before my brain could do anything about it:
"You're a better woman than I."
She looked at me, wiped her face slowly with a wet napkin she took from her pocket and added:
"Not my idea."
She filled the silence this time thankfully, with:
"It's okay. I'm okay with it."
Now I couldn't even make myself talk.
WTF, Brain? Where are all those stupid non-conversation words and lame jokes you're always spewing out all the time? Where are they now?
She added, sagely:
"What can you do?"
I stood there for about seven hours, speechless. Well, it felt like 7 hours anyway.
I just could NOT stop imagining the horror that would be a garage sale with my ex-husband. Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, you could not force me to have that day. There is not any item, or any amount of money, that would make that day worth living.
I would give up every material item I have ever possessed, and just walk away. As I did from my first marriage, with only a bag of clothing for me and for my son.
I couldn't even force myself to have that day of:
"Is this mine or yours?
Do you want this CD?"
I just left all of it. Nothing is worth that. NO-THING. Take it, take all the things.
I would rather be homeless and live in a dumpster behind a pet store.
I would rather sleep in the middle of Lake Shore Drive during rush hour traffic. And other elaborate thoughts about what I would rather do than stand among a yardfull of my failed marriage's items and try to negotiate with people to buy them, filled my head and would not leave.
Can you even imagine?
Eventually I found some words, but had no idea what to say to this stranger.
"What indeed," I lamely whispered.
I suck at these situations. I am about the least comforting person in the world. I am usually trying so hard not to say something awful, or make a terrible joke, that I lose all ability to talk like one person speaks to another person.
I know that my oldest sister could have handled this with tact and compassion, she would have put an arm around her, and called her "Honey" and made her feel better. I swear to blog I tried to think of something, anything, to say that might make her feel better. For the life of me, I just drew a blank with words.
I tried to change the subject, but I think we've already established I'm an idiot, so I asked about a fancy, elaborate picnic basket with room for 2 wine bottles.
Yes, this is what I chose to change the subject with. A romantic-looking picnic basket.
To ask the hostess of a Divorce Garage Sale.
Jesus, Joy, why don't you just ask if they have any condoms they're not going to be using now?
She mentioned they were given this basket as a gift, for picnics and she gave an involuntary *shrug* when she said 'picnics' and added, but didn't have to, that they never used it.
My children started fussing a few seconds later, blissful timing, and I tended to them dramatically until my husband eventually returned from the other (dark) side with whatever item he purchased from that side, a small rolling shelf and a small stuffed horse, which my 2 yr old proudly held up for the woman to see.
"Oh, you have a horsie! Sorry I don't have toys on my side, I never did have children. They have toys on that side, he had children. And toys...."
her voice just faded away, and I imagined she was thinking about her ovaries.... just another thing they never did use in this marriage, and my husband looked at me confusedly.
He had not heard the whole 'his side/her side' explanation, and for some weird reason I panicked, saw a sled with a Bears logo and jumped up to grab it before my traitorous mouth could betray me again.
"Oh look, a sled!" We have used sleds before.
My teenager asked about sleds one time. Ever. But oh yeah, we need a sled, sure, we will DEFINITELY NEED this damn sled, that she obviously NEVER USED (tag was on it) so I need to pay her for this sled. Right now. And these 2 umbrellas, I mean when you see an umbrella for a dollar you buy the damn umbrella.
I have a whole theory about umbrellas. To me they're like books, you don't own them, you just borrow them from the universe for awhile until you, or more likely your children, leave them somewhere for the next person. I have purchased probably 50 umbrellas from Goodwill, resale shops and garage sales. We now only have THE TWO I just bought at this Divorce Garage Sale. Until the next time my teenager has to walk to the bus or to work in the rain. Then, they'll be gone, on their way to another adventure with another family. Farewell.
And farewell to the renters of the house 2 blocks away, who are getting divorced. The soon-to-be-ex-wife will be moving into a 1-bedroom apartment, never having used any of the fun items she & her soon-to-be-ex-husband intended for their marriage.
Our hasty retreat. That's the Bears sled, which I will MAKE SURE we use at least once. |
Who knows, thankfully I managed not to ask before we left.
We had a picnic later that same day at a park.
No fancy basket, no wine, just snacks and us and kids and smiles and laughs.
and tangerine flowers |
Lesson: Have the fun, do the things, go on the picnics.
Forget about all the STUFF of life, and focus on the fun. The Love. The Laughs.
Because you might not have the chance.
And for frick's sake, do NOT have a joint yard sale with someone you're ending a relationship with. Craig's list, e-Bay, phone a friend, sell some dru---I mean, I can tell you better ways to make a couple hundo.
*fingerphone* Call me.