A recent trip to help the economy and hunt for bargains took
me to countless yard sales and two different flea markets.
Yard sales are conducted by one of two types of people: The
kind that want to sell their clutter and make money, and the kind that merely
want to talk to other people.
Those wanting to rid their lives and homes of useless clutter
have the best prices and more than willing to haggle. Guy tools from that failed marriage can be a
real bargain, as can hunting and fishing equipment, happily being negotiated
for pennies on the dollar.
The people wanting to talk are clearly evident. Nothing on their tables is priced. Upon picking up an item, the seller will say,
“Make me an offer.” At this point I
usually retort with some insulting offer along the lines of twenty-five cents
for a Tiffany lamp. Those vendors are
simply hoping that someone will offer them nine-dollars for an old stick, or
that someone will merely sit and chat with them about some item they remember
as kids.
Finding these venues can be an arduous task, too. On the main thoroughfare is a sign with an
arrow directing traffic to a “Humongous Yard Sale,” or “Awesome Garage
Sale.” Upon entering the development
which looks like it was designed by Rod Serling, the signs become increasingly
smaller until half matchbook covers, with the all-important address, are hung
about 15-feet up on a utility pole, written illegibly. Here’s a tip: Try reading it yourself while
driving by at 30 MPH. If you can’t, I
can’t, either. Please have change for a
twenty, too. I’m not a bank.
It’s because of these poorly planned neighborhood events
that I turned to the flea markets. Flea
markets of yore were altogether different than they are today. Back when we wrestled dinosaurs enroute to
and from school, flea markets consisted of those yard salers who wanted greater
exposure so, they would pay five bucks to rent a space at a drive-in theater
and sell their wares, there. For you
youngsters, a drive-in theater was where babies came from. But, I digress.
Today, flea market booths are largely manned by people
selling new junk in the order of cheap bracelets, do-rags, clothes pins, and
dead batteries. Occasionally, you will
find someone selling old-school junk or as we veteran flea marketeers call it,
treasure.
One flea market was so well equipped with vendors of such a
wide variety that they could put the local mall out of business if they were
open weekdays.
There were three jewelers, three produce stands, two kitchen
gadget places, one store selling parrots and other annoying birds, one dog and
cat shop that sold dogs and cats, a cigar store, a uniform shop selling nurse’s
smocks and uniforms, five vendors selling tools, one guy selling trailer parts,
one woman selling lawnmower parts, three stores specializing in leather jackets
and vests and chaps, and one joint selling all-important bingo supplies. Fishing supplies, vacuum cleaners, and
sunglasses surrounded the used car dealer.
Yes, used cars are even sold at this flea market.
There was a dentist, a barber shop, and a tattoo parlor, as
well as a gun shop. Four shops were
selling plants and two were offering golfing needs. Let’s not forget the carpet shop, the lottery
ticket vendor, or the head shop. This is
what I call one-stop shopping.
And being hungry can get you into trouble. Five greasy spoons were selling everything
from oleaginous egg and sausage sandwiches to hot dogs that travel six-miles a
day on those silver rollers. To wash all
your gastronomical challenges down, there were two bars serving that much
needed cold beer at 9:00 AM. This find
was truly as stroke of luck.
And, the best part of all this is that there is a price on
everything but, everything was still negotiable.
So, if you want to gab, add that fact to your yard sale sign
– the sign that is large enough to read by a creature other than a hawk. And if you want to sell something, place a
price upon it because I don’t want to gab with you.
