Note to future self: no more yard sales

Mom and I had our yard sale today and I can honestly say that it is not something I will be doing again anytime soon. This (and the previous) entry will just have to serve as reminders on why yard sales are awful.

I have no idea how many combined hours we spent digging through old chests of toys, dragging things out of the attic, re-arranging items in the garage to get to the things shoved way in the back.  But it was a lot.  Not to mention the fact that everything cluttered up the house for over two weeks while we waited for the weather to clear up (btw, it was a gorgeous day today, though a bit cold in the morning). I’m guessing if I combine the time it took my mom, my sister, myself and my dad to organize, clean, drag outside, display, and drag back inside, we probably all earned roughly 50 cents an hour. And I don’t think that counts the money we put into it (permits, signs, stickers, etc.).

But the frustrating thing is how much stuff was left. It didn’t even look like people made a dent. My mom and I were sitting there, at closing time, looking at all the stuff still on the front lawn thinking, “now what? Do I have to take this crap back inside?”

Also, people can be so rude! I get that the clothes are used. I get that it’s a yard sale and the leftovers will probably just be either given away or tucked back in the attic for another 10 years. But there’s no reason for you to be snotty.

My mom was in charge of selling my sister’s stuff (she was under strict orders not to negotiate too much) and a woman came up to her and asked if she could get the infant clothes for 25 cents a piece instead of $1. Mom explained that she was selling the clothes for my sister, who wasn’t present, and the lowest she felt comfortable going was 50 cents a piece. Rather than accepting that — like nearly every other person — the woman went on to say that the clothes were stained (which they weren’t — my mom painstakingly went through every item of clothing, teddy bear, toy, dish, figurine, etc. to make sure they were devoid of any stain, discoloration, dust, or random garage grime. I sold a shelf that was dusty on the bottom and she actually cringed as I picked it up to help the man carry it to his car). But the clincher: when it was clear my mom wasn’t budging, she goes, “does it really matter? You’re just going to throw this stuff away anyway.”

How obnoxious! Even if that is the case, it doesn’t mean the seller should just concede all their prices to the buyer. There’s no need to be that rude over a grand total of $1.50 (especially when you won’t find things this cheap anywhere else).

P.S. While digging through old boxes of Barbies, I found book reports that I used to make for the dolls. They had names like “Egyptian Cats” and “African Zeebras [sic]” and pretty much were just tiny scraps of paper stapled together with scribbles on every page. My Barbies weren’t just sitting around waiting for Ken to sweep them up and take them to their Dreamhouse. Hell no, they were scholars.

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