Sell It

My neighborhood held a community yard sale last weekend. This involved a sign in front of the Villages at Lakeshore entrance, a lot of confusing emails to and from homeowners, and piles of junk in people's driveways. Twenty years ago, I thought of yard sales as inevitably frustrating opportunities to make as much money as possible on a Saturday morning. Now I view them as a chance to psychoanalyze my fellow humans while getting rid of shit I no longer want. My method was "Make me an offer - everything must go." If I hadn't used it in a year (or four), it was out on the driveway.

Who wouldn't get out of the car for this?

I applied my merchandising background from high school department store jobs to organize neatly with curb appeal. Shoppers here prefer to drive by and roll down their windows, gaze at wares from the climate controlled comfort of Trailblazers and sedans. Yet I didn't get nearly as many shoppers as my neighbors two doors down, whose stuff was in messy stacks and piles in huge plastic Rubbermaid bins. Maybe the mystery of those untidy tubs of junk is what lured customers out of their vehicles. They couldn't resist a peek into the unknown, whereas my naked display gave away too much at first glance.

The few shoppers who braved my yard were uncomfortable if I didn't name a price. When I said, "Make me an offer" they averted their eyes, shrugging awkwardly. If I caved in and stated a ridiculously low number, they of course offered half, to which I responded, "Great! I'll take it."

In this unorthodox way, I made 30 bucks in less than two hours and got rid of half of my junk. The rest was headed for Goodwill, as soon as humanly possible.  

Just as I started packing up, the passenger of a maroon minivan rolled down her window halfway to ask "How much for the picture?" She referred to a huge, ugly print I'd picked up off the street - free - about two years before, thinking I might someday use the heavy black frame for something. I said, "Name a price." She looked distressed, then faintly disinterested, and shook her head. I feared she'd wave the driver on. "I'll give it to you free," I said, my voice a tad overeager. Could she see the thought bubble over my head? Please! I beg you! Take this hideous behemoth off my hands!

Then she smiled. "I can't do that. But I'll give you $2.00 for it." 

Sold.