HOME | POLITICS | SPORTS | LIFE | SCI/TECH | OPEDS | HELPFUL TIPS
|
May 7, 2005 Having a yard sale is a marvelous experience. The saying “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure” is quite true. Last year my wife and her sister prepared our garage for the event of the season. They dug at the bowels of our attic, our garage, and our basement, and low and behold, we had a selection that would put Wal-mart to shame (I forgot, they have no shame). How does this great summer tradition begin? First, you must go to the city hall and purchase a one-time-only license to have a yard sale, five bucks I think. Second, you call the newspaper and advertise, “Yard Sale Of The Century.” Third, dig out everything you have wanted to throw away, burn, or run over with your car. Fourth, put these heirlooms on every table you can muster. Fifth, price the goods at ridiculously low prices (e.g. – one pair of men’s jeans size 38 –29: 50 cents.). Lo and Behold, you have a yard sale. Beware, though, of early arrivers; no peepers please; don’t open the garage doors until the advertised time. Watch your cigar-box cash register…keep your eye on it at all times; don’t bargain down too easily, be feisty; and bring plenty of beer…by the time the yard sale is over you won’t care if somebody has just burned down your garage and absconded with your new car, your pets, or your neighbor’s pets. I love yard sales. I like sitting in the darkest corner of the garage with a brewski in my hand and watching people I don’t like walk into the garage. When they see me after their eyes have focused to the garage lighting, the scowl on their face is a Kodak moment. Usually they turn and walk away mumbling something about, “the atheist bas%*^d lives here. Darn that is fun. My wife usually scolds me, but I like that too. After about six Budweisers, I like almost anything.
My wife adds a little flavor to her yard sales. She bakes pumpkin bread and zucchini bread and sales them for a buck-fifty. People swarm on the breads as my seventh Budweiser usually washes a loaf of the zucchini bread down. By closing time, we have raked in two or three hundred bucks and I have one helluva hangover the next day. Man, I love yard sales.
|
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
