I'm not a fan of garage sales. I never have money when I pass by them, and I'm fine with not buying somebody else's coffee-stained bedroom slippers (only used three times!) I'm jealous of the profits, though. Sellers sometimes make a killing, and some buyers can spot collectors' items like Kentucky Derby tumblers and Betty Boop memorabilia and rake it in by reselling on eBay. Makes me wonder about the time I sold old LPs for peanuts at a friend's yard sale, all to one man who I doubt appreciated that entire spectrum of disco, jazz, baroque, and sitar.
Garage sale holders regularly thrive in the agony of dragging junk outside at the break of dawn, price-tagging every item, and then getting rained out before 8 a.m. I'm too lazy to do this, and therefore I've come up with the perfect solution. My type of garage sale honors true sloth, as too few things in this world do.
Here's how it'll work. I'll post signs publicizing the date, but that's where the preparation ends. On the appointed day, I'll allow into my home flocks of garage-sale traditionalists and perhaps accidentally a stalker or two. I'll declare, "With the exception of my dog, photo albums, and certain items of personal hygiene, everything is for sale." I'll tell them to be as free to suggest prices, to haggle, and to molest items as if they were in a Tijuana flea market.
Everybody wins. Rotten weather doesn't matter. I don't have to price anything or decide beforehand what to sell. I can hand out alcoholic beverages to get people too drunk to realize they're paying $95 for a refrigerator magnet. My clothes closet would finally exhale as I sold off all that clothing I bought while under the influence of the 80s. Certain things would sell easily because they're so covered with dust that buyers would mistake them for something useful.
If you think I wouldn't be willing to sell most of what I have, you're wrong. I'm not sentimental about material objects. My departed grandmother's jewelry? How much would you give me? I'm already starting to rethink reserving my photo albums. If you wanted my graduation portraits and the candids of me trimming my childhood cat's toenails, then I'd say knock yourself out. You could do worse.
I have a lot of multiples of things bound to sell like hotcakes. I have about a dozen eyeglass cases, too many funnels, enough mugs to serve coffee to the entire county, and an illegal number of Phillips screwdrivers. I have stuff unique enough to start bidding wars, like my flying cow toy and my Star Trek toilet seat lid that says "Beam Me Up NOW!" whenever you lift it.
I expect to become famous for revolutionizing garage sales – because we all know this idea will touch lives much more deeply than that thing about a healthcare public option. Once I've made the news, my possessions will become even more valuable for having belonged to me, and I'll be able to put my face on a set of sheets just like Ellen DeGeneres did and auction them off for $19,000. This is why I recommend coming over here the first time I do this while all the best stuff is still available. Rest assured, I'll have a pitcher of vodka tonics all ready and a Star Trek toilet seat lid with your name on it.