You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
Garage Sales are crazy.
It’s 7:15 in the morning on a Saturday. People are outside my house, walking the street like zombies. They are holding coffee cups in one hand, and their wallets in the other. These denizens of the deal are scrutinizing my driveway, staring at my flower bed, trying to pry my garage door open with their eyes. They stand on my lawn, like property tax assessors, straight faced and serious, telepathically pondering why there is nothing for sale on my property.
BECAUSE I HATE GARAGE SALES THAT’S WHY.
Where is Clint Eastwood when I need him. “Get off the grass kid!”
The normally quiet morning is filled with fumes and disruption. Trucks with heavy mufflers are slowly gurgling past my house, their engines rattling my window sills, pulsing with energy that could shake the dead from their crypts.
There are small Pick Ups everywhere. Some have mattresses hanging out the tailgate like a Tiajuana going out of business sale. Over sized SUVs are slowly meandering down the street like gas guzzling burglars looking to make a deal.
Cars are parked on both sides of the street and navigating this narrow drive has become increasingly dangerous.
I don’t like this event at all. Twice a year the HOA organizes a neighborhood wide garage sale.
So twice a year my neighbors drag crap to the curb that the county dump wouldn’t take.
Ironing boards and hawaiian shirts blind my eyes. Buckets of this and tubs of that are strewn about driveways.
A cracked book case, a skateboard with a skull a pair of army boots with a scuff mark.
GET OFF MY LAWN PEOPLE!
I understand the need to sell junk. I understand the need to buy junk. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I get all that.
But it’s like bringing all the crack dealers to the same corner. I can handle one crack dealer, making a clandestine deal once in a while. But when you bring all the crack dealers to the same corner wearing their sandwich boards and spotlights and yelling COME GET YOUR CRACK thru megaphones; well it’s all too much.
That’s the problem. Too many driveways, too much crap, too many cars. It’s great that you feel the need to sell an old training bra to the 12 year old from the other side of town, but what about the guy who just wants to back out of his driveway without running over a paper mache cat somebody bought on a Mexican cruise 2 decades ago.
GET OFF MY LAWN PEOPLE.
Has nobody heard of Target? They have brand new crap that comes with a warantee. How bout the dollar store? They gift wrap.
Garage sales are a good way to transfer junk from owner to owner. Property that should never have been bought and now should certainly be destroyed is being repeatedly sold in the name of American Commerce.
GET OFF MY LAWN PEOPLE.
I know I sound like Mr. Burns with an Ulcer. Really, I am not going postal or anything. I’m not up in the attic with a rifle plucking shoppers off one by one like a clock tower killer. All I am saying is this event is akin to shopping mass hysteria. It’s a buyer be ware, seller be ware, keep your hands and feet inside the car sales event. It’s neighborhood armegeddon where everyone comes all at once and throws up all over the street buying and haggling and belching up dollars. It’s a disaster waiting to happen with no traffic cops or traffic rules or customer service desks to pound your fist on. It’s dangerous.
As I stare at the gypsies on my front lawn, I imagine this interaction:
buyer: I bought this Felix the Cat clock with the swinging tail and big eyes that rock back and forth. It doesn’t work. I want my money back.
seller: Sorry all sales are final.
Suddenly it’s the wild west. It’s lead flying. It’s Hamilton and burr ten paces, turn and fire.
GET THE DEAD GUY OFF MY LAWN.
And take that stupid broken felix the cat clock with you.
Why do I hate garage sales? Maybe because I once watched a small boy run out from behind an SUV and almost get hit by a pick up truck loaded down with a gigantic ceramic sombrero. The truck stopped just before the toddler got creamed. The driver of course was looking at the neighbors lawn wondering how many more broken washing machines he could stack in his truck.
How many garage sale related tragedies must their be before sanity is brought to this sad institution of junk transferance?
GET OFF MY LAWN PEOPLE!
And that is this morning’s rant. I apologize. I feel better now. So enjoy your Saturday.
I am going to put out my trash. Instead of putting it in the garbage can, I am putting it on the edge of the driveway and I’m putting a price tag on it. It’s a bag filled with soiled burritos and a greasy tin foil. These idiots with coffee cups, smoking crack will buy anything in the name of the Holy Garage Sale.
I wonder how much my greasy crap is worth?
Let’s find out.
Hey you on my lawn, come here.
And that is crazy.