Gruesome Confessions of a Rummage Sale Junkie

Okay well the title pretty much explains it all anyway but today’s expedition was a little on the morbid side. Not the mission itself, rather certain by-products.

I set off to Goodwill ISO a touch-lamp for my daughter’s bedroom. (Whichever clever mobile-home-building engineer thought up putting the light switches 4.2 feet from the floor needs to be shot, at sunrise, sans blindfold. I graciously volunteer to supply the bullet, firearm, and manpower.) Anyway, lo and behold, the product was available, in stock, and not too horrendously expensive. (Goodwill is not always the bargain barn it seems to be, albeit they are what they are, I suspect a Mafia front to provide work for the mentally unstable and otherwise unemployable residue of society.)

So anyway, transaction completed to a fair amount of satisfaction (I still think $6.99 is a little high for a very used lamp when a new one is about $20, but don’t want to come all the way into town for “Super Saturday” [last weekend of the month] when Goodwill marks everything ½ off.)

Upon pulling out of the driveway, I spied a “Yard Sale” sign on a utility pole across the street.. I am a total sucker for other people’s junk. I have a ratio rule for these things – A: 1 out of every 3 sales will have something I can use, need or want; B: 1 in 10 will have a great deal on something that someone I know needs or wants; and C: 1 in 25 will have all the baby/kid clothes I can buy for $.25 a piece. These ratios work pretty well; unfortunately they do not tend to run in that order. I may have to go to 10 sales with that have nothing but trash your grandma could not give away; and the next 2 will be fantastic. It works out in the end. I could go on and on about some of the great things you can find; but I do not wish to distract my gentle reader from today’s subject.

I park the car, note that the yard in question does not seem to have a plethora of items, yet there is a bicycle-cart thing for children in the drive, leading me to think there could be some child/toddler items for sale. Reasonable conclusion, that. You learn rather quickly to judge the sale by the items you see first, as people are smart enough to put out the really great stuff where you can see it (instead of doing like supermarkets and hiding the object of your search in the absolute farthest corner from whatever entrance you use).

Just inside the garage was a swingset. Rather used, but very serviceable and even a fairly new model, judging by the wear on the plastic covering the chains. It’s marked $15.00 – bing! The little “B” light goes on in my head – Mom wants a swingset for the kiddo’s weekly visits. I saw one in the paper over the weekend for $25 and considered it but didn’t feel up to pursuing. I hate calling and talking to strangers. So, at $15 it’s a steal, I ask the guy if it’s still for sale and he says he’ll give it to me for $10! Cool! He says, go in the house and pay the lady there.

Okay, on into the house. It seems that it is an estate sale – the place is nearly cleaned out, and everything is for sale. This often happens when someone’s parent’s check into a home, or simply check out of Planet Earth. Wandering through one of the virtually empty bedrooms, I spy a box of blankets containing a Dora the Explorer comforter. Bingo! - kiddo LOVES Dora, an A and a B in the same sale, good deal! It’s marked $5. It’s a twin size, a little large for her toddler bed, and obviously very much loved previously (rather faded but no stains), but what the hell. Maybe I can talk the lady down to $3. In the living room, a box of video tapes all without covers. I search for several minutes, but find mostly Barney, Bob and Builder and the Wiggles. Just as I give up, aha! A copy of Pulp Fiction for a buck. Again, cool. Maybe I can make a package deal on everything.

So I go out to pay, and the tired old lady looks very familiar. Turns out we used to work together (she retired a couple years ago), and we chat for a few about the people we know in common. I show her a pic of kiddo, whereupon she tells me that this house used to be her daughter’s house but her daughter died. OUCH. I’m so sorry, I say. I secretly wonder, what happened to the granddaughter, but am afraid to mention. Beverly introduces me to her husband, and I can see that they are just not doing well, financially or otherwise. I pay full price without even haggling. Why do I now feel guilty that I have a good job and a healthy child? They smile and wave and we make arrangements to call and pick up the swingset this weekend.

On my not-quite-as-merry-as-before way to a car dealership to pick up some parts for work, I spy another sign. I turn down the road but it seems that the sign may have been outdated, or the people just can’t figure out that they need to place a new sign at every intersection to assure folks that they are on the right path. So rather than turn about, I am just going to go around the block and get back on track. Uh-oh, *another sale on a previously unannounced block! I stop, get out, look around. This one turns out to be mostly junk, no toys or neat clothes. If I needed cat flea collars or old ugly jewelry, they had the market cornered.

I make a conscious effort to be friendly and chat up the 60-ish proprietor, as he tries to sell me a too-expensive stuffed bear for my daughter. I decline with thanks, whereupon he shows me a shelf full of new yet unnecessary junk, like Salad Shooters and Yogurt Machines. He says, this stuff used to belong to my daughter who had a store. I say, (still attempting to be sociable) oh too bad she could not sell it, but her loss could be your gain. He says: she died the day after Christmas.

Well now.

At this point, macabre music begins droning in the background of my head. I glance around furtively, hoping to spot Clive Barker, Dean Koontz, or Stephen King lurking behind a convenient bush, but to no avail.

I can’t stop at another sale today.