My aunt and uncle in Pleasant Hill held a garage sale today, and I was allowed the privilege of selling some of my own stuff. They are moving, so they had tons of stuff, from dishes to records, rugs to large furniture, jewelry to tools. It was one of those neighborhood deals so there were lots of other sales around us.
I started with a good vibe when the second customer of the day purchased my half-tacky, half-beautiful painting inherited from a relative. The traffic was slow at first, but by 9 or so picked up and picked up fast. The rest of the morning we were wheeling and dealing. My aunt and uncle sold a bunch of stuff, my mother unloaded her antique gumball machine (read: wooden box) with no key.
Lots of people seemed fascinated by my pair of 5 lb. weights and also rifled through my stack of (reject) license plates. Everything I sold was $10 or less. It included a stuffed dolphin and stuffed baboon for a quarter apiece, a few books, "The Office" on DVD seasons 2-4, a broken tripod, a piece of luggage, a horseracing game which originally cost $60, several books, three puzzles, two old aquarium decorations (tiki heads and Spongebob's pineapple), a magnet board for state magnets, a used basketball, and a box of tea candles. In sum I collected about $125, and $40 of that was for my best item, my bike.
I had taken the 1997 Corsa Novara overseas the summer I turned 22. I had ridden, along with a different aunt and uncle, through rural France. It also saw a bit of Paris and part of England. Since the trip, I had used it just a handful of times. Otherwise, it sat in the garage collecting cobwebs and dust. And yet it proved difficult to part with. When we pumped up its tires right after the purchase, my heart skipped a beat. "Ride me," the bike seemed to say. "I can still be your friend." But I knew that in reality I would never ride it as much to justify the space it took up in the garage, and I'd continue to feel guilty for both not riding it and not giving it to a better owner. Two guys had offered $20 for it, but this man was different. He seemed to study it and appreciate it as soon as he padded the seat and rang the bell. And when he rode off with it, his wife walking along, I felt I had done the right thing. Perhaps he could give it just the little bit of love it needed.
By the early afternoon, traffic had died down considerably and the group of us (my aunt's friend sat in with us and helped out the whole day) were content to sit in lawn chairs and wear off the Kinders lunch. When we closed up shop, there was still lots to go. For my part, I had reduced approximately five large storage bins to three. Later in the day, I dropped off a bunch of books (not just mine, but my aunt's and mother's as well) and got a measly $10 for them. There were lots of people doing the same thing. Thankfully, they donate or recycle any ones they don't accept. Which is better than saving them another 6 months to a year until the next sale.
Awards
*The "Most Interesting Sale" award goes to the coin collector who handed us his business card, then gave my aunt a crisp $100 bill for just a few silver dollars and a couple of other coins.
*The "Coolest Sale" award for me goes to the man who bought the Popeye lunch box. He was truly excited to find this item, disgusting as it was.
*The "Sweetest Story" award goes to the gentleman who had survived cancer ("scars like I've been bit by a shark" he said) who had local area connections to my aunt's friend, and chatted with us, along with his wife, for 20 minutes or so.
*The "Most Disappointing Near-Sale" goes to the family who wanted my aunt's doghouse. They couldn't fit in their car, so they said they'd come back with a bigger car. They never came back. Said doghouse is currently sitting on the curb with a "FREE" sign attached.
*The "Strangest Moment" goes to the woman in the black sedan who honked for about 5 seconds, then drove up in front of a pickup truck going the other direction. Apparently, she felt he was blocking the road, even though there was plenty of space for the woman to go around. She attracted a small crowd, with myself, my uncle, and my aunt's friend, as well as two teenage boys and another neighbor. "I know what I'm doing!" she railed, and one of us said "Go back to Dublin, you bitch!" ("Funniest Line" award, by the way).
Tips:
*Sell during block/neighborhood sales, if they exist, or try to organize one. You'll get a lot of foot traffic of people wandering sale to sale, who otherwise might not feel like driving around for sites.
*Offer hot dogs and drinks. We did not do this, but my aunt's friend suggested it around lunchtime. People will refuel at your sale and feel obligated to take a closer look at your crap.
*Put a dog on the front lawn. Even if it's not your own. Dogs and cute children are historically ways to increase customers.
*Have a large, unique item on the street. This will attract customers from afar who can't see your crap due to bushes and cars and such, will lead to potential customers asking you questions, and I've seen this work personally in Niles, where a guy parks his rare automobile outside his shop.
*Signage, signage, signage. We didn't have to do quite so much of this because of the multi-yard factor, but a couple of years ago when we had one at my mom's we had little signage and barely any customers. However, don't say it's "huge" or "awesome" if it's small or sucks. 'Cuz that pisses me off.
*Have a plan for the leftovers. Don't make the mistake of saving it for the next big one. It will just sit in the garage and collect dust and continue to irritate you (along with spouse or landlord or parent) that it's sitting in the garage and collecting dust. Donate the crap, take it to consignment, recycle it, trash it, or sell it to relatives who feel sorry for you. You'll be glad you did.
*Keep a bottom line. Yes, you want that crap gone, and that means selling stuff for way less than you want.
But you got to have morals. Don't sell that cool Hollywood Nudes in 3-D book for 50 cents when it cost 20-something at the bookstore. That perfectly good bike deserves a $40 minimum because, damnit, it has a compelling history.
*Separate the memory from the item. I have read this lately in a book (It's All Too Much by Peter Walsh) and watched it on "Hoarders" once upon a time. Admittedly, it's the most difficult thing for me. It's why the bike hurt so much to let go. It's why people hang on to stuff their parents gave to them when they moved to the retirement community or passed on. It's why a piece of clothing or a set of dinner plates or a memento or souvenir can be so hard to say goodbye to. But you have to remember, that thing is only that--a thing, not the actual event it represents. For people with poor memory like me, however, you need the item to spark the memory.
*Champion the tack. Okay, there's no way I can put out the small purple Christmas tree with lights and glitter that constantly sheds that glitter and say "this is a quality item" or "yes, I purchased this with my own memory in sound mind and body." So you put it out with the antique bike (your bait, see fourth asterisk) and hope that no one laughs at you.
Garage sales are a labor of love, a means of reliving and letting go of memories, and a portal for peering into human nature. Its a way of connecting with complete strangers, of discovering how much crap you have ended up buying over the years, and of bonding with family and friends. So pick a nice day, notify me on Facebook, and I'll come on over. In fact, I have a great item for trade. It's this little purple Christmas tree...
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