A QUEER DAY FOR YARD SALES

Man, it was cold at six this morning. And overcast. I could smell rain, but the clouds held their water. Must have been young clouds-if clouds are anything like men-because this old man can’t hold it that long.

Spike and I usually don't travel too far from home, but this morning we decided to ride into J‘ville. According to the classified ad, someone had a huge selection of books for sale. The misguided young woman holding the sale had four boxes of books. Four. To me, huge conjurors up a lawn covered in stuff, but I still managed to pick up five or six titles. Spike handled the haggling. Price should have been $7.00. She added wrong and came up with $4.00. Spike gave her a Jackson. When she made change, she handed Spike $18.00, cheating herself out of another $2.00. Spike didn't catch the mistake. He claims he didn’t, but you never know with Spike. An hour and a half later, I realized the woman gave too much change. I wanted to go back, but now I'm now forty miles from her house and it would have cost me $12.00 in gas to give her the $2.00 back, so we kept going…..


At the next sale, I bought an 1892 volume of poems by Wordsworth. What a perfect name for a poet. Knowing the worth of a word, they use them sparingly. I also picked up an old pharmacy bottle from Savannah, and a small stack of vintage catalogs. My total should have been $5.50. I give the owner two quarters and a five. She gives me one dollar and fifty cents change. Didn't realize mistake till after I left.

We headed east looking for more treasure. Blackbeard use to roam this area, and Spike likes to think of us as swashbuckling pirates, so it is only fitting we sail from yard to yard looking for plunder. Spike also wanted to look for a little Captain Morgan since it was so chilly, just enough to warm his old bones, he said. I told him it was too damn early, and besides, I was driving. Sometimes Spike doesn’t think things through. What he does affects me. For those who don’t know Spike, he’s my brain tumor.

At the next sale, I bought 10 coasters at a quarter each. The woman couldn't total my purchase. She counted them out, one at a time, saying, .25, .50, .75, $1.00, until she counted all ten coasters. I think she is a retired professor.

I almost didn't make the next stop. I’ve been in the area before and it’s not a great place to find good stuff. There was only one other shopper rummaging. I spotted an old bible. It was a thing of beauty. Hand-tooled. Leather bound. 8“-10" thick. Beautiful, full page color illustrations. Attractive endpapers. Immaculate condition. I asked what she wanted. $10.00. I pulled my wallet out so fast smoke rolled up off my butt. The jerk shopping tells her, "I wouldn't sell that for $10.00. You should research it on the internet. Probably worth hundreds!" Lady changes her mind and decides to keep it. I thought Spike was going to kill the guy and I didn’t want to go to jail as an accessory, so I wrestled him into the truck and we peeled out of there. I hit a pothole on the way out and messed up my front end alignment.

Signage was a problem this morning. We wasted an hour, tricked by posters advertising puppies for sale, wedding receptions, family reunions, and charity car washes. In my neck of the woods, once you’ve committed your turn signal, and have slowed down, you have to make the turn or risk going visiting the proctologist so he can get a 57 Chevy pulled out of your ass. Spike and I followed one sign to a church. The parking lot was full. We went in, expecting an indoor, fund-raising yard sale, only to find a wedding in progress. Spike ended up giving the bride away.

I did pick up thirteen pieces of Clarice Cliff dinnerware. I didn’t know the pattern, but the fine ladies at The Yardsale Queen's site told me the pattern is Rhodanthe.


Looks like Spike and I found some treasure after all.

SPIKE AND I GO TO A YARD SALE

I have a brain tumor, and until I get accepted by Medicaid, the tumor will have to stay where it is; and since I’m going to be stuck with this morbid mother for the foreseeable future, I’ve decided to name it. So meet Spike.

Spike and I hit the yard sales this morning. It was a weird ride. Thirty-seven degrees outside and we’re looking for hot deals. The plan was to start on Easy Street, across from the Fish Trap Restaurant. They had advertised books, and I’m always looking for a rare first edition, so I pointed the truck north and off we went. Now, I’ve been on Easy Street. And I’ve taken a few meals at the Fish Trap, but I couldn’t find the joint this morning. I don’t know if it was because of the cold, or because of Spike. He was pitching a hissy-fit, like it was my fault I couldn’t find the damn place. Twenty minutes later I stopped at a convenience store, bought a pack of Marlboros, and asked for directions.

Turns out, Spike and I were in the wrong town.

Ten minutes later we make the turn across from The Fish Trap. No yard sale signs anywhere, and the road dead-ended, which just pissed off Spike. I wasn’t too happy myself. I whipped the car around and headed back home. On the way, Spike spotted a sign for another sale so we checked it out. Three signs outside the house, nothing set up in the yard, and no one in sight. The garage bay doors were down. I wanted to leave but Spike dared me to knock on the door. Bastard wouldn’t let up, so I knocked. I was told the sale was in the garage. We checked it out and found a side entrance with a post-it-note yard sale sign. I let us in. Three guys were hunched over a camp style gas heater. I’m hearing Dueling Banjos, and that got Spike to giggling something fierce.

The sale was a bust, but I asked if anyone knew where Easy Street was.

The guy with the most teeth says, “Sure, you turn across from the Fish Trap. Go down two streets, turn right, take the next left, and the next, and then two more rights. Can’t miss it.” I didn’t tell him he was wrong.

We found the place. I bought three Dark Tower books by Stephen King. Not exactly Blackbeard’s treasure, but I made out better than Spike. He broke a grime covered plate and had to pay the lady a quarter. He bitched the whole way home.

YARD SALE TICKLERS

With the possible exception of bondage freaks with feather dusters, no one says, "I got tickled," anymore. But when I was a kid, before cable and MTV cooked a big pot of English stew, people spoke in the vernacular. Down South, if you got tickled, it meant something amused you. I hope you will "be tickled," by the following recounting of my more humorous yard sale adventures. I'll continue to add as the season progresses. If you're not give me a call. I got a deal on a feather duster at a sale last Saturday.

My dad and I often spend Saturdays at yard sales. The man has a mischievous smile and the soul of a leprechaun. At one sale he picked up a shot glass. The price was a nickle. He nudged me, and with a conspiratorial tone said, "Watch this." He held the glass up and asked the owner,"How much?" She told him it was five cents. He examined it closer and asked, "Will you take four cents for it?"

At another sale we bought a few items. We paid the woman and she said, "Thanks. Come back and see us." My dad, using his best robot voice, told her,"We will, the next time we are on this planet." He walked back to the car with a mechanical gait, swinging his arms while uttering,"Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep beep."

Funny yard sale sign--Big Ass Yerd Sale

I'm always looking for books at yard sales. At a recent sale, I asked the seller if he had any more books. He went in his house, and when he returned, he handed me three volumes.

"You'll want these," he said.

I thumbed through them. All three were written in Swedish. I handed the books back. "I can't use these."

The guy seemed shocked. "Why not?"

"I can't read Swedish," I said.

Seemingly stunned, the guy exclaimed, "You can't!" He took the books, shook his head in amazement, and walked away.

At a recent friends of the library sale, I meet a guy who told me he phoned in ISBN numbers to his wife. She would check Amazon, from her computer at home, and let him know whether the book was worth buying. I, on the other hand, write down the numbers of books I'm interested in, look them up at my leisure, and return to the sale should I find something of value. During the sale, the volunteer, (a woman I know) noticed he was relaying numbers via a headset phone. She politely inquired as to what he was doing. After he explained himself, she turned to me and said, "You should do that." My reply was, "I can't afford to."

She gave me a quizzical look and asked, "You can't afford a phone," to which I replied, "No. I can't afford a wife."