Making money isn’t objective when selling junk
I sold for dollars while she sold for pennies. Pouring 35 years of accumulated stuff into one 3-bedroom house led to a couple of yard sales last summer that moved some of the stuff we didn’t want any more but not all of it.
“We’ll just have to wait until we can take it to the flea market,’ my lovely wife said.
The flea market of which she spoke is the annual Memorial Day sale at Braddock’s Inn on Route 40 east near Chalk Hill. This event usually draws big crowds of sellers as well as buyers. Surely we’d be able to rid ourselves of most of the unwanted junk…er…goods we had stored in the garage and family room. Boxes containing them have halted pulling my car into the garage and getting much enjoyment from the largest room in our home.
My wife was being jokingly optimistic about selling our wares. “I’ll get $20,000,’ she said, smiling. Frankly, I wanted to get rid of the stuff but I had no desire to rise early and haul it all to the mountain site where I’d be required to neatly place it on tables for display. Then I’d have to stand there like a wooden Indian while scores of people passed by, looking, touching, picking up, asking the price (although each item was clearly marked) or asking if that was THE price, meaning they wanted to haggle.
Uncertain weather made attending the sale iffy. Not wanting to get soaked (by rain, I mean) we kept watch on the forecast. However, it wasn’t until about 5 a.m. of the day of the sale that we finally made up our minds to go for it.
By the time we had breakfast and got our bones into gear it was about 8 a.m. We are not youngsters, you know. I had to load my car and put a pair of card tables that would be our display stands in the trunk.
I should explain that we each had certain items to sell. I had a quantity of sporting gear that I had collected over the years that was no longer of use or no longer being used, which included some books, equipment and other items. My wife’s inventory consisted chiefly of knick-knacks, dishes, crockery and even some fine crystal that was once, but no longer is, part of our home’s d’cor.
I arrived at Braddock’s first, thinking my wife would follow me. Caught at a traffic light in town, she lost me. Or I lost her. Anyway, I wasn’t concerned because she knew where we were going.
When I pulled into the sale area, I noticed the lower portion of the lot, usually packed with vendors, was nearly empty. Everyone seemed to be on higher ground. When I observed a series of muddy ruts I realized why. A week’s work of rain had turned the ground swampy. I drove to the high ground, figuring my wife would follow. She didn’t. She pulled into the lower end, wondering why only a few vendors were parked there. Meanwhile, people who were attempting to leave were digging their way to China through the mud and soup. I watched several do-gooders with 4-wheel drives towing other vehicles to free them from the quagmire. I parked my car nose downhill, hoping the ground would dry enough during the day that I could escape without incident.
I managed to sell most of the stuff I had hauled in and was happily bearing the receipts when my wife strolled by. “How are you doing?’ she said.
“Pretty good. How about you?’
By the time she paid for the space from which she was selling, she was ahead $1. Items she sold went for 10, 15, 25 or 50 cents, which means she earned about $16, $15 of which went for the lot fee. Items I sold went for $1, $5, $10, so I was a lot further ahead.
I like to think my table also had more male appeal. I mean, how many times have our wives convinced us to go to a flea market where we had absolutely nothing to buy? I gave our gender a choice. And, the gender supported the effort.
Of course, by the end of the day I wasn’t as far ahead as I could have been. It cost $8 to free my wife’s car at the automatic car wash from the mud encasing it after she ploughed out of the field at the sale. And Kendra, our 11-year-old friend, who was helping out and had asked for $1 when all I had were three $20s in my wallet (What was I to give her?), made out like a bandit.
I deposited the residue in the bank.
Was it worth it? Yes. As long as I get to park my car in a garage free from clutter. Would I do it again? Maybe. But only if I leave my wife and Kendra at home.
Have a good day.
Jim Pletcher is the Herald-Standard’s business editor. E-mail: jpletcher@heraldstandard.com.