Color Me Stupid

            Okay, before I get going, let me say I apologize to anyone I may offend for this post.  To some of you, I may cross the line.  If I do, I am truly sorry.  It had to be said, so now I can go on.

            Last weekend, our subdivision had a huge yard sale.  The subdivision Nazis…er, leaders, told us about it ahead of time on an email alert and then made huge signs to the entrances to the subdivision about a month ahead of time, announcing when the big event would be.  “Come see the crap of 320 houses.”  Yes, nothing like it.  “Come sift through what they don’t want.”

            You see, quite frankly, and this is what might offend some of you, I don’t get this whole yard sale thing.  Let’s see if I get this right.  We have about 320 homes in our subdivision.  We are all supposed to go digging around in our closets, attics, sock drawers, and other assorted places and drag out what we haven’t used in a while, along with old furniture that looks awful and slap a tag on it with a price.  Then, we are all supposed to wander around and buy each other’s used crap.  Why? 

            If I just drug out my old used crap to sell it, why would I want to buy yours?  And why would you want to buy my old socks?  Or shirts?  Or Hanes underwear?  They are the same type that Michael Jordan wears, but I don’t think they’re worth anything.  I bet if Michael Jordan had a yard sale and sold HIS underwear, he would get a lot of money for them, but not me.

            Many moons ago, we did have a couple yard sales.  What a joke!  If you start the thing at 7 a.m., the people are there at 6, helping you put the crap out.  Then, if you have a dollar on a brand new pair of socks, they want to buy it for fifty cents.  What’s with that?  Do I go into Lowe’s and say, “Hey, I want you to knock off a hundred bucks from that grill.”  I don’t think so.  These people think because merchandise is being sold in a driveway and the price is written on masking tape, they can negotiate.

            We had seven tables full of crap, worked all morning, sold most of our stuff, and I think we ended up something like $69.84.  Are you kidding me?  I can make more money walking through ditches picking up aluminum cans.

            I’ve always wondered, do the rich people have yard sales?  Probably not, but wouldn’t that be great?  You know the husband and wife wouldn’t be caught dead dragging the stuff out, labeling it, and then standing there and selling it.  I can, however, picture them off to the side, directing someone else to do it all as they sip wine.

            “I say Buffy, what should we ask for my ascot?”

            “Oh heavens, Ralphy, I paid nearly $400 for that.  We should ask at least $250, don’t you think?”

            Yeah, just not the same.  Their crap is not our crap.  I’m betting the man of the house doesn’t wear Hanes, or if he does, Michael might help him put them on personally.  Yuck.  I’ll just stay in my little neighborhood and watch everyone else pull out their used crap and sell it to each other.  It’s like the urban version of Goodwill, just at a lower price, without shopping bags.

            I think the next time we participate in a yard sale, if we ever do, we will pack up all our crap and go up to the north part of town, to the wealthy part of town.  I’ll find a rich guy who wants to sell some of their crap, and we can throw it all together.  I will do all the work and we will split the profits.  I will mark up my prices about 2,000% over what I would have priced it at in my neighborhood.  The next weekend I will buy crap at yard sales around my neighborhood and then go back up north again.  In a few weeks I can have my own ascot. I just don’t get this yard sale thing.