Garage Sale Caravan
I went shopping the other day. No, this isn’t a remake of my “Shopping,” column of past issues; this was actually my idea. I grabbed the Wife, jumped in the car and hit the Garage Sale Circuit. I had never done this before mainly because it requires you to be on the road at a much earlier time of day than I am used to.
There seems to be a whole underground cult in our society that thrives on these things. The first house we visited was almost stripped bare, with nothing left but junk. I was about to learn that there was probably nothing but junk to begin with but more on that later. We were there at 10:30 in the morning and it was over. The ad said it started at 9 AM, but the frazzled looking lady said she was cleaned out by 8:30. These folks are serious shoppers. Like vultures, they stalk the easy prey first (the suburbs) then pounce on what’s left.
As we headed into the center of town, we were rewarded with much more merchandise to peruse. Of course rewarded can be a relevant term, as the old saying goes, “One man’s junk, is another man’s treasure.” Most of this stuff didn’t seem to me to be worth the trouble of setting out on a table, much less putting a price tag on it. To my surprise, the person right behind me instantly scooped up some of the objects I had grabbed for comic relief. It’s as if, just the act of me looking at some piece of junk shows it’s worth something to someone. I honestly believe some of these women (I’m not being sexist, I really was the only man on the, “circuit,” that day) are suffering from a kind of addiction. It’s as though we were all traveling in a sort of Shopper’s Caravan, traveling together from one stop to the next.
The folks putting on these sales were all friendly enough, while the shoppers themselves were grumps. They seemed ticked off if we got to the next stage of our “Garage Sale Caravan,” ahead of them. God forbid I should grab that Velvet Elvis with the broken frame before they get a shot at it. And what’s with all the old jars? Every sale had tables full of old dirty jars. Some were mason jars and some were what looked to be old peanut butter or mayonnaise jars. Is there really a market for this stuff?
I have finally figured out why Americans are overweight. All our exercise equipment is broken. Each house we stopped at had broken down treadmills, exercise bikes and every other device of torture imaginable. I suggested buying them all up and turning them into plant stands. We could have a garage sale. The Wife said no.
Louis L’Amour paperbacks were on display at every location. These are the classic westerns I read as a kid. He sold millions of books but if you added in all the garage sales, it must be billions by now. They are probably the most recycled product on the face of the earth. You also get to view some of the tackiest paintings imaginable. I had dreams of finding that lost Picasso or maybe a missing Renoir but the closest I got was the aforementioned Velvet Elvis.
This really is a slice of Americana which you must see to believe. There is more involved than these Ladies simply looking for bargains. A Jacques Cousteau documentary on shark attacks comes to mind, “Zee females of zee pack are in a frenzy. Zee dominant hunter gets zee prized mayonnaise jar in her clenches and weel fight to zee death for her territoree.”
I did find what I was looking for: a twenty-dollar lawn mower. I refuse to spend more on a mower until I can get a shiny new riding mower. Of course, the Wife won’t let me get one until we have a yard at least big enough to turn it around in. She’s such a spoilsport. Otherwise, the day was pretty much a waste. I have no desire to buy used bed-sheets, old 8-track tapes, broken exercise equipment or any mayonnaise jars. I did make one other purchase that day. The Wife made me hang the Velvet Elvis in the garage.
© Mike Ryan 2007