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.

Ambushed by Emotion

Last night I had another one of those nightmares.  I had driven to an old friend’s house (Randy) and went inside for some vague dream-reason.  Whilst in there, some terrible catastrophe happened to my car, and it was half flattened – trapping my daughter inside and nearly crushing her as well.  Randy came running out and started to pry the car apart while I was frantically dialing 911 on my cell phone and at the same time screaming at the rubbernecking bystanders to do the same.  But every time I went to dial the phone, it would not work.  Once I got 911 but it turned out to be some lounge lizard in California.  I could NOT remember the number to the sheriff department.  I could NOT get through to any emergency personnel.  Sometimes I would dial the right numerical sequence but nothing would happen anyway.  This is a repetitive theme and I can’t stand it.  I have a version of this dream quite often.  Sometimes I can’t push the buttons in the right sequence.  Sometimes the numbers are jumbled around or just plain not there.  Sometimes the buttons morph into Play Station buttons, which I cannot for the life of me figure out even when awake and fueled by caffeine.

I wake up when my daughter, too, has a nightmare.  I bring her back into my bed, hugging and kissing her until I am calm.

Cesspool of data

There is this amazing amount of knowledge where I work.  Aforementioned engineers go around with buttloads of useful information rattling around in their skulls [such trivia as the ratio of Newtons to Kilograms = 9.80665] but when they get hit by a bus, fired, or otherwise get away from the company, they take all the good stuff with them.  So I get random assignments such as, “Find out what we have paid for every tool we have built in the last 3 years (approximately 400+ that I have found since yesterday), analyze it by type and capacity, and tell us how much we should spend on the next tools we buy.  Oh, and can you have that done tomorrow?”  

I actually enjoy this.  When I’m between assignments or bored, I make up things to do, like analyzing what percentage of registers that we are building consist of a certain material, and what the material usage trends have been over the last 5 years; then scheduling a supplier to come in and present some new wunderkind material that will make better registers.  It often involves making colorful charts and clever PowerPoint presentations so as to awe the masses.  My bosses love it, and I’m not locked into repetitive work.  I love that.

The difficult part is that each section of our business pretends to be an autonomous entity, so that data gets repeated in several places, and most times incorrectly.  I spend many frustrated hours venting at my poor PC and muttering under my breath about how certain people need their heads knocked together*.  My co-workers quickly learn to ignore my curses and imprecations.  I have, however, unlocked many deep dark secrets and can figure out how to hack into most any information necessary without having to go and ask the source.  



*(One time in my life [not work related] I actually *got to knock two heads together….it was an almost sexual feeling of release…….ahhhhhhh)