We had a moving sale this past Saturday. Normally, when it’s time to get rid of household stuff, we just donate. Because we were in the process of packing anyway, moving the stuff outside wasn’t much more trouble than donating it, and we had some furniture still in pretty good shape, we decided to go ahead with a sale. We did okay. I’ve lost count now, but we made around $180 after expenses which consisted of a $15 ad in the paper. I’ve not received a bill for that yet; I have my fingers crossed.
Every day for about a week before the sale, I hauled a few things out of the attic. In fact, the last time I was in the attic, I was pleased at how bare it was compared to when I started – less to move in a couple of weeks. By last Friday, our dining room was pretty much full of our old junk. That night, Jennie came over to help us price stuff. She claims to really enjoy pricing items. Maybe she missed her calling with accounting and should’ve gone into retail?
Catch and I sat on the couch and offered helpful advice while Jennifer and Jennie priced. For example, Jennifer included in the sale several pairs of shoes that, admittedly, were in like-new condition. Personally, though, I try to avoid buying used shoes. So, when they decided on the prices for some of them, I politely opined that maybe they were being overly optimistic about the used shoe market in Little Rock. But then, when they priced our dining room table for only $10, I was a little more adamant in voicing my thoughts. I thought that the shoes were a priced too high and the table was too low. My reasoning was that a solid-wood dining room table can’t be purchased for less than $600 new, but that I could run out and buy new shoes for $9.95 (my argument conveniently ignored the fact that Jennifer had likely paid far more than $9.95 for every pair).
The next day, I awoke around 5:30 a.m. I had previously made arrangements with the Birdman to help me haul the big stuff outside. I was supposed to call him around 5:30 to make sure he was up and ready to come over by 6:00. About the time I was getting out of bed, though, I received a text saying that he was already up. So I stumbled to the coffee pot, and then started moving stuff to the yard.
Jennifer got up about 6:00. I first noticed that she was up when, after putting a coffee table in the yard, I turned to find her standing on the edge of our small front porch, staring into the empty street. Concerned, I asked, “Are you okay?” Recognition flowed into her face and she said, “Just not awake yet.” And then she asked, “Did you move all this stuff by yourself?” I mentally looked around to see if there were some moving men that I had not seen, quickly decided that she probably wasn’t in the mood for a smart answer, and told her that I had. She began arranging the stuff on the yard. I went back inside. When I returned, the Birdman was pulling into our driveway.
Here are the highlights from the rest of the day:
6:08 a.m. – The Birdman and I started moving the heavy stuff from inside, and a few items from our backyard shed.
6:09 a.m. – Jennifer, arranging the stuff on our front lawn, humorously observed that, “…this is just a crap sale.” In response, I asked, “Aren’t they all?”
6:20 a.m. – Despite the fact that the newspaper clearly said 7:00 a.m. to noon, our first patron showed up in a large, white, serial killer van. He stepped out of his van with a flashlight in hand for examining the merchandise. I think it’s strange that people show up at garage sales before they are scheduled to begin, but I didn’t care in this instance because he bought most of the furniture resulting in easily the biggest single sale we had all day.
6:55 a.m. – With a large cup of coffee in hand, I sat down on the front porch. I brought my Macbook and caught up on some blogs that I haven’t read for a while.
7:00 a.m. – 9:45 a.m. – People trickled in and out, buying most everything except the shoes and board games (some of which were still in the original plastic).
10:00 a.m. – I went inside and told Jennifer, “We’re slashing prices! Where is the Sharpie?”
11:00 a.m. – A young couple parked their light blue Toyota Corolla on the street in front of the house. The wife got out of the passenger’s side and looked at the few items we had left. She looked closely at two end tables that Jennifer and I purchased several years ago at Ikea. In very broken English, she asked me how much I wanted. In spite of the bright yellow price tags that Jennifer and Jennie had placed on almost every item the night before, it was a surprisingly common question throughout the day. I told her $2 for the pair. I wasn’t sure she understood but she walked to the car and tapped on the driver’s window.
Her husband opened the door, stepped out slowly, and walked to the table nearest the car and to which his wife pointed. He picked it up and, I suppose to investigate for damage, examined it closely, both the top and the underside. I thought, “You can’t expect much for used end tables originally from Ikea.” He put it down, faced his car with his back to me, and spoke to his wife in hushed tones. I believe it was a gesture of respect both for me and his wife. But it could also have been a negotiation tactic. If so, it wasn’t necessary because I was ready to give stuff away at that point.
When they finished talking, they both turned to face one of the tables. His wife pushed down with all her slight weight, testing the table’s strength. She looked at me and asked, “Can you make it lower?” I walked toward the table and thought, “I suppose you could cut the legs off.” As I was about to offer my Captain Obvious thought, she said, “The price, I mean.” A wave of understanding washed over me, and I held up my index finger and said, “Absolutely, one dollar.” We had a deal. After some maneuvering, they managed to get the tables into the trunk of their Corolla and were off.
11:40 a.m. – With almost everything gone, I decided to pack the rest into my car in preparation for dropping it by Saver’s later that afternoon after the Razorback football game.
11:45 a.m. – The Corolla couple showed back up. Apparently, they had eyed the dining room table. The man asked me if the legs were removable. I told him that they were. With tape measure in hand, the woman sized up the table’s surface and then walked to the Corolla. She opened the trunk, took some additional measurements and, with a frown on her face, shook her head.
I asked where they lived and was told that their place is close to ours, only a couple of blocks away. I told the man that I would put the table in Jennifer’s car and take it to their house. He pondered my offer. His wife, who I believe does not suffer fools easily, asked, “Will you take $5?” I shook my head and said, “If I’m driving it to your place, the price is $10. If you want to take it, then $5 is fine.”
In the end, they pulled a quilt out of their trunk, folded it in half, covered the roof of their Corolla, put the table on top, and tied it down with a copious amount of twine. The table’s top literally covered the entire roof of the car, and even jutted forward over the windshield about three inches. I asked the man if he wanted to borrow a wrench to remove the legs. He said that he thought they would offer stability. “Fair enough,” I thought.
As they were getting in the car, the woman asked me if I had painted the table with spray paint. I hadn’t. I had mistakenly painted it with exterior house paint. That’s another story altogether, though. Regardless, I had trouble conveying to her that I had simply painted with paint from a can. Eventually, I used the term oil paint and she understood. I don’t know if she preferred something other than black and wanted to know if it could be painted again, or if she wanted to strip the paint to have a natural wood table. Regardless, she amused me with her no nonsense attitude.
As they drove off, table legs pointing toward heaven, I ran inside to ask Jennifer if she saw the car with the table attached. She had and her only response was laughter. Her laughter was worth the whole endeavor.
