You know what I hate? Hosting Garage Sales. I'm so effing stingy that I don't give my old junk away like good samaritans ought to. Instead, I suffer through 4 agonizing hours of dealing with what I like to call the Foul Faction. The Foul Faction is that segment of our society that nobody likes. They're a despicable lot -- freakish, ill-mannered, ugly and extremely tight-fisted. The Foul Faction underground must have posted flyers announcing my garage sale, cause they were ALL there.
Hosting garage sales allows me to reconnect with my hateful side. This can be a good thing if you write a blog called "You Know What I Hate." Here are some of the more memorable events of the Garage Sale.
1) They guy who scanned the goods we had out, then asked, "Miss -- do you happen to have any war memoribilia?" to which I responded, "Oh, hmmm. Yeah, that would be in Aisle 10. Do you want me to get you a price check on that, too? I have a self-scanning machine right here that you can use? And are you interested in our complimentary gift-wrap services. Oh, and can I help you out to your car today?"
2) The woman who refused to pay the asking price of $2 for my Gap Jeans, saying it wasn't fair because she didn't know if her daughter would fit into them, to which I responded, "Listen, bitch, the fact that your daughter can't stop shoveling twinkies down her bloated hatch ain't my problem. Now pay the two dollars OR PUT THE JEANS BACK!"
3) The woman who picked up an old dress of my daughter's and asked, "How much?," to which I responded, "One dollar," to which she responded, "One dollar? For this?" at which point I became very offended at her insinuation that my daughters' clothes were ugly and worthless, so I pointed to her high-waisted Faded Glory jeans that were giving her camel toe and laughed hysterically.
4) The gentlemen who stacked up a crap load of shit -- portable TV, old dishes, some Doc Marten shoes -- and asked me how much for all of it, to which I responded, "15 dollars" to which they looked at me pathetically and said, "but we only have $10" to which I responded, "well then you either need to go sell some plasma or put some of that shit back you morons."
5) The woman who picked up my size 14 jeans and asked "how do these fit?" to which I responded, "they fit more like a size 12" to which she whined, "oh, but I'm only an 8" to which I responded, "well congratulations, Karen Carpenter. You're a stick and I'm a big fattie. Now I'm going to go to my room and cry. Happy now?"
As I sat in my room crying that I'd never be a size 8, my husband packed everything up in large black trashbags and headed to Goodwill, where we should have started our day out all along.
1 comment:
I went yardsaling with Brent last weekend in North Phoenix. I always feel guilty when I enter someone's driveway, say "hello," peruse their crap, and then leave. I feel like I am telling them, "What a load of tasteless trash you purchased." Then again, it is mostly trash. 4 sales had something called a lean mean something-or-other machine. Assorted mismatched pressed glass cups, puzzles, workout videos, 80s knick knacks. The worst are the old men sales! ALL old men own and sell nothing but old rusty tools and machanical parts!
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