Garage sale

We are holding a garage sale today.

Of course, my use of the first person plural is, shall we say, figurative. The truth is that Mary, One, and Boyfriend Of One are holding a garage sale whilst I sit in my comfortable office chair in my comfortable office, writing about said event. You see…

I don’t do garage sales.

I am happy to help find unused or used-to-near-extinction or ugly or even fugly items to offer for sale. I am willing to help move junk – er, make that fine vendables – out to the driveway. I offer wisdom as to how to set things up and I occasionally saunter outside to nod and make unsolicited comments to those doing the actual, you know, work. But I don’t actually take part in the selling phase of operations.

Why, you might ask? Simple…

I don’t do garage sales.

For one thing, I am uncomfortable with the whole haggling nature of these events. I would be sorely tempted to offer the whole shebang to the first prospective customer to arrive with an empty pickup truck for five dollars cash money on the sole and non-negotiable condition that they take it all, take it now, take it far away, never to return. This, however, is not Mary’s preferred sales technique and I’m fairly certain she would express her dismay in no uncertain terms.

Then there’s the customer who wants to purchase the lightly used Samsung tablet for twenty dollars. Yeah, that’ll happen! I’d sooner donate it to the school – hey, that’s an idea! (More frowns from my beloved.)

And there’s the wanderer who somehow makes it past the hanging tarp to explore my actual garage, which at this point contains nothing with which I’m willing to part. Except maybe the chipper. Yeah, I’d sell the chipper. It’s a pain to start and requires actual work to use. Now THAT you can have for twenty!

Let’s face it: I am neither interested in nor am I competent at the operation of garage sales. And that’s why…

I don’t do garage sales.

Glad my beloved does, though. Lots of junk moving in a satisfactory direction. That would be, out the door.