Saturdays. Like a fresh crop of weeds, Garage/Yard Sale signs pop up all over my area in an enticing display of reds, yellows, blacks and whites. Cardboard boxes creep near intersection lamp posts like toadstools, each offering a chance at hidden treasure for a steal. It's a fresh day full of possibilities and mystery. My son has already been up and itching "to go somewhere" so I hope to take full advantage of his enthusiasm and hit up a couple of sales.
The morning starts out clear and promising. I had checked CraigsList and decided that today would be a good day to stay in my area as there were at least a good twenty sales all within a 3 mile radius. It'd be a crap-shoot, for sure... but surely something will strike my interest. We hit the Dunkin' Donuts for an iced coffee and a Sprite before passing by the ATM.
"Multi-family Sale! Too Much To List! Everything Must GO!" was my first stop's listing. In the area, a middle-class McMansion neighborhood with huge houses and tiny lawns, there are several signs advertising sales. I remain skeptical. The people who purchase these homes deal with Housing Authorities and watering restrictions in exchange for community pool privileges. Starting families and running that rat race. I'm not disappointed in my assessment -- these folks have decided their chintzy Target home decor no longer fit their current whims and wish it out of the house. My son and I quickly skim through about a half dozen of these caliber offerings. I know the Yard Sale Gods must have woke a little cranky when even a five year old can't find anything he likes to start him begging me for a quarter.
We begin meandering back from the outer limit of my search in from the south. One sale looks almost promising -- a veritable recreation of Sanford & Son's junk sale collection. Among the piled, busted electronics, there are even a few Buddha statues. I'm almost impressed, but there's nothing there that I care to purchase. I ask the woman sitting under the tent sipping her sweet tea if she has any records. The answer is yes, but she hasn't put them out and would I mind coming back later. I mention that I just might, noting that my son's interest is starting to wane quickly. "Ok, dad... no more garage sales." We head back to the house to eat before heading out to the trampoline park that he's been on about for the past week.
Hey, Yard Sale Gods... do you have any love for me today? "Nope", they answer.
I enjoy an hour of trampoline dodgeball with my son. The teenagers love it when I play because they don't have to hold back when trying to bean me. Good times, good times. Since my parents are in town to visit, they agree to stay a 2nd hour with my son so I can hit the other dozen sales that we passed by on the way to the park. I know the area -- rather run down and low-to-middle class housing. I suspect I'll find trinkets and children's clothing galore, but on occasion I've spied the odd collectible gem.
I snake my way through the neighborhood, each sale visited being an exercise in anti-climatic disappointment. Clothes. More clothes. Hey, look... clothes. It's 1pm and the Texas sun becomes a symbol of the Yard Sale Gods' apparent cantankerousness. "Everything here is 50% off, we want to close up shop" most sales proprietors say as I approach. I start asking specifically for items... One lady says "why, yes... I have some old 8-tracks from my late husband, one moment..." as she pops back in her house, only to return with a large plastic bin of broken cassettes and scratched 45's. "You can have them all for $20." I politely decline, pointing out that only a few of the cassettes are intact. Out of that selection, two yellowing tapes -- one Elvis, one B. B. King stand out... "Two dollars a-piece", she says -- noting that I had set them aside for consideration. I put the tapes back, thank her for her time and head back to my car to move onto the next sale.
One garage is chock full of books. Have the Gods forgiven me of whatever trespass I might have done? But, no... out of the hundreds of books there, 99% of them are library copies -- and even there, there's only one book that tickled my personal fancy -- "The Definitive Edition of the Tao Te Ching". For a dime, it's now part of my personal collection, but I marvel that out of that many books, there was nothing there of any real value.
O Gods, why do thee hate me so? How hath I offended thee?
A half-dozen more stops, each with an increasing feeling of loathing. Baby clothes. Cheap dishes. Broken toys.
I'm nearly back at my house. One final stop. I'm greeted by a large number of boxes of toddlers' clothes, being muddled through by said toddlers. The mom, babe in arms, mentions that it's all "gotta go today".
I ask with a hint of desperation... "Any books?"
"I've got five kids. I ain't got no time to read."
I walk back to my car, looking forward to a shower when I return home. Suddenly, I feel unclean. I am reminded of that wonderful quote of John Waters, "If you go home with somebody, and they don't have books... don't fuck 'em!" I think someone must not have seen that one in time.
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