You knew I’d post about this, didn’t you? Yep. The Garage Sale. Every single time I do one of these things I swear I’ll never do it again. And then, the room that used to be a quite nice gameroom fills up with junk again. And when I can’t find the eight-foot pool table that is in that room somewhere, it’s time to have another sale. But this time, guys, I think, is it.

First, there was the weather. Lovely thing about Louisiana. Did I say lovely? I meant sucky. See, Louisiana weather, as I have said before, does not consist of seasons, but rather a series of fronts. Up until last weekend, we were enjoying some nice, breezy, warm but dry weather. Birds were singing, butterflies were fluttering, and all was right with the world. The minute I placed the ad, we received a nice, healthy dose of what can only be called the “Effin’ Hot Humid Miserable Louisiana Throwdown.” This is evidenced first by the sudden, immediate shutdown of anything that resembles a breeze. The breeze would not return until the following day, and it came with one purpose only: to announce the quickly approaching thundershower which ended up shutting us down a couple of hours early. Anyone, I mean anyone, who has video of all of us running for cover while carrying junk-laden tables needs to get that video footage to me post-haste for immediate and total destruction. I. Am. Not. Kidding.

Then, there are the lovely people. They can be grouped in several categories, but I’ll limit it to a few.

First, there are the die-hards. They drive up at the ungodly hour of 6:15 – 6:30 a.m., when we’re trying to wipe dew off the tables and get the stuff outside because even though we said “no early birds” the early birds knew that we didn’t really mean that. They buy your best stuff. They buy the stuff that you had hoped would lure the rest of the world into your snare later in the day. So you’re left with some lovely cheap bud vases, which we all know you need more of.* Then there are the sneerers. Hard to say, probably because there’s no such word. But you know who they are. They drive up, ONTO YOUR STINKIN’ LAWN, and get out with a scowl on their faces. You know good and well that the male unit of the sneerer pair lectured the female unit before they got out of the car — “put on your poker face. These people will try to ream you on that Corningware.” They pick everything up, sneer at it, ask you “whatcha wont on this?” before throwing it back down. With a sneer. One man, driving a brand new Lincoln, took a 3-month-old trumpet out of its case, fiddled around with it, then threw it, THREW IT, back onto the table. With a sneer, of course. Bastard.

There are the grandparents. I love them. They are usually restocking their playroom for their grandchildren and will buy every toy. I love grandparents. Love them.

There are the carloads of truly needy people accompanied by their children. They love your stuff and won’t hesitate to dole out their hard-earned cash for stuff because they truly need it. They’re the ones that you tell “Oh, I meant to mark that down…why don’t you just give me $3 for the whole lot of it?” Because they need it. And I need them to have it. And if I thought they’d take it for free, I’d offer it. But they wouldn’t, so I don’t.

There are the men in the pickup trucks that buy the crap that you and your husband argued over. Because you KNOW that stuff won’t sell, and he SWEARS it will. Because, I guess, he knows men. And what they need. And the pickup truck man loads it all up. And your husband smiles at you as he tucks a huge wad of cash into the cash box and you scream “don’t say I told you so because I’m hot and tired and I need to pee and I just don’t need that right now.”

And then, there is the counselor/aide driving the Club Wagon of mentally challenged folks around and she decides she wants to take a look. And they all get out of the van. And my neighbor, Carol, who took a quick break to run home, suddenly sees twenty people milling around and flies back over on the ATV so that she can lend some assistance with the crowd, but the crowd suddenly gets very excited about the four-wheeler and leaves the sale to gather round it and the counselor decides to load them back in the van before neighbor Carol has to start giving ATV rides.

I’m really never doing this again.

*Yes, I ended in a preposition. Wanna make something of it? Huh?

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