Yard Salesman, I’m Not

Junk. It clutters my backyard, corner of my bedroom, hall closet, den closet, shed, and porch. I have got more crap than I can shake a stick at…which would be weird. Why would I shake a stick at anything? Much less a pile of crap that I want to be rid of? I know I need to do it. So why won’t I just have a yard sale already?

I live in the most PERFECT town to have a yard sale. Arlington, Texas knows three pastimes held just above religion and just below tailgating and they are:  Football, Baseball, and Yard Sales. In other towns, yard sales start early on Saturday mornings. In Arlington, they start on Thursdays and will run through Sunday afternoon.

New Spanish words have been created thanks to Garage Sale. A woman on our block moved here two years ago from a small Mexican village and speaks no English at all. She has a garage on her house. (Unlike us with our small carport.) She has a “GaraSeo” each week to help offset her cost of living. I saw the sign nailed to telephone poles on either side of the block for about a year before I figured out that she meant “Garage Sale” and was writing it as she heard it phonetically on her sign. Then last week as I combed the Spanish language circular looking for sale ads and coupons, I spotted a “GaraSeo” ad in the classifieds. Apparently, her creative language has caught on.

Another woman I know, though she lives in Dallas, used to have yard sales monthly. She would collect up all of the clutter in her house, pile it on folding tables in the front yard, mix a thermos full of margaritas and sit down and sell off all the shit while she got hammered in a lawn chair under a tree. By the early afternoon, her prices were way past competitive and bordering on monopolizing the yard sales in a 9-block radius. By 4 pm she was giving shit away. About the time the thermos was empty, she’d drag her folding tables back into the garage and count her earnings and celebrate the decluttering of her home and the ability to buy another fifth of tequila. (*Note: She is now a recovering yard saleswoman as her husband was tired of her making $30 on his table saws that he’d have to go out and buy again new. I’m happy to say she’s now on the wagon and while she is NOT working a 12-step program, she now donates her clutter to the local homeless shelter and stays away from her husband’s power tools.)

So. Why can I not do it? Why have I not been able to drag the old stereo that needs a fuse that I can no longer buy because RadioShack is now only selling stuff online? (Okay. They still have stores. But not around here.) Why can I not drag that stupid 5’x5′ table with the warped top down to the end of my driveway, along with the computer components no one wants, the dinette set that I don’t want, and the hideous knick knacks and things that my kids have purchased at other yard sales and dumped in my house? We have stacks of VHS tapes that no one watches. Furniture that we at one time needed but now just sort of walk around carefully. People it’s a 3-legged couch with torn cushions that sinks under your ass when you sit. It won’t cry if you sell it for $5 on a Saturday morning to someone who needs someplace to sit. It’s saving me the $30 I’m gonna need to rent a truck to hall it off to the dump. Let go, for crying out loud.

I’m not attached to this junk. I truly do want to rid myself of it once and for all. I think it’s the getting up early on a Saturday and arguing with my husband about what we should keep for sentimental reasons that is preventing me from doing it. That’s it. HE’S the pack rat. Not I. Well, that and being tied to a lawn chair in the front yard all day (without margaritas) and having to deal with people haggling over junk that’s already priced to go. I should just bite the bullet and do it already. I’m going. Yup. Heading out now to the dollar store for signs to hang up advertising my yard sale on Saturday. (*Garaseo en Sabado. Se hablo espanol.)

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