Category: Yard Sale Tales


O-kay …


I understand that sometimes I can sound like a crazy person to those who don’t know me. (And probably to those who do) While out yard saling I came across a plastic tool box full of Matchbox cars. The woman running the sale told me that I could have the whole thing for a dollar. I didn’t really want all of the cars, only a couple, but the tool box was decent so I bought it.

Her – “You must have a little boy.”

Me – “No, this is for me.”

:odd look:

Me – :taps top of box: “I like toys.”

:odd look intensifies:

Me – “… I’ll just go put this in the car.”

Imagine the look I would have gotten if I had told her I just wanted the tool box to keep my boiled My Little Pony heads in.


Saturday proved to be another fine yard sale day, a bit windy but the rain held off until later that night. While digging around in a box I found a cache of women’s size nine wide shoes, which is the size that I happen to wear. It is difficult to find them and I have a hell of a time locating shoes. I pick up a pair of Timberland boots to take a closer look and see something inside the shoe. At first glance it looked like fine gravel but it wasn’t. The shoe was full of a mixture of mouse berries and birdseed.

Meh, close enough.

The woman having the yard sale, seeing me dump this stuff out, explained it away as “Something must have fallen into the box when I was moving it around.” Um, no. Mouse nests don’t just fall into shoes and lodge themselves into the toes by accident. Even though the shoes were only $2 I did not buy them, I can stomach wearing used shoes but not used shoes whose innards have probably been soaked in rodent urine.

 

Yard Sale Tales – #1


On Saturday I went to several yards sales with Mother Dearest, as we often do on Saturday. At one I noticed a small bucket with old, partially used nail polish and asked the woman running the sale how much they were.

“Oh, twenty-five cents each.”

She goes off the fold the clothes she has sitting on a table in her garage, complaining the entire time that people kept messing them up.

How dare people try to look through her things! What did they think – that they were at a yard sale or something?

I finish picking through her stuff, most of it grossly over-priced, and prepare to pay. I had picked up a few other small things – a small folding knife, a magnifier, and an unidentified toy – and a half-dozen polishes.

This lady really liked red and pink.

 

I sit down my items and ask her how much I owed her. She looks at what I’ve set down.

“Umm…Eight dollars.”

I’m sorry, what?

You will be happy to know that I didn’t bitch-slap her.

“That’s not right.”

I moved the nail polish over to one side.

“You said these were twenty-five cents, so that’s a dollar-fifty.” I pointed the the three small items still remaining. “How much are these?” She looks at the items for a few seconds, and I’m starting to fear that the hamster has fallen off the wheel.

“Oh. Umm… Two dollars for all of it.”

That was more reasonable, so I paid and left.

I think she was trying to charge me a dollar each for the nail polishes. A dollar is pretty cheap for high-end polish, but most of this stuff had been sitting so long it had separated and a couple were all thick and lumpy. (A few drops of thinner might fix that, but it also might not. For a quarter I was willing to risk it.) If she wanted to charge a dollar for them, that is her prerogative, but not after she already told me a price that was much lower.