By Amy McGarry
Don’t you just love a good yard sale find? When you come across something unique, quirky, and one-of-a-kind? Or something that you just really love and that you got for “a steal.” “One person’s junk is another person’s treasure,” is one of my late mother’s many aphorisms. Although I think she got that one from someone else.
While my mom passed away 16 years ago, some things still really make me miss her. Like yard sales. My mom loved yard sales. She had come from humble origins. She loved a good deal. She became downright angry when she wandered through a garage where she considered the items “over-priced.” Furthermore, those high prices were non-negotiable in her mind, since she refused to ever haggle, or what she called “dicker.” To negotiate a deal just wasn’t in her DNA.
I rejected some of my mother’s influences. Others I embraced. Like my mother, I love yard sales. Like my mother, I hate to dicker. And somehow, bestowed by my mom, I have a deeply ingrained problem taking money from people.
My daughter is moving away to the University of Washington this fall. One of her endearing, yet frustrating traits is that she has always been what my mom would have affectionately labeled “a pack rat.” My kid prefers to call herself “a collector.” From the time she was really little, she started collecting toy Shopkins, and then it was everything Garfield. By her teen years, it became mugs with Looney Tunes characters. Luckily, she’s also thrifty; almost everything she collects, she buys second-hand.
My daughter is also the most sentimental person I know. I’m not going to use the word hoarder here, but she values every little thing anyone has ever given her. Or that she has found on a hike. Or that she found traveling on vacation. On our last vacation, she filled a jar of shells, a jar of rocks, and a jar of sand that she wanted to bring home as “souvenirs.” She wanted pieces of the place she’s been. I don’t know if that’s even legal. She feels emotionally attached to things in a way I only partially understand.
I thought that going away to college just might be an incentive to let go of at least some of the stuff she has acquired through the years. Luckily, my daughter is motivated by money. So, I suggested that this summer, considering she would be moving out of her overflowing room that has spilled out into the hallway, would be a good time to sell and make money off of some of her items that she feels less attached to these days. Yes, I was treading lightly.
Full confession: despite regular drop-offs of my stuff that I donate to local charities, I have still somehow managed to amass way more than I need. This is another influence from my mother, who didn’t believe in throwing anything away.
I was excited to get rid of stuff. I didn’t plan to put prices on my things. That’s way too much work. I could just verbally tell people low prices on things or tell people to make me an offer. My mom’s voice was in my head. I didn’t want to make the cardinal sin of overpricing.
I knew my daughter would price her own things and I was happy to keep my nose out of that. She has a much better mind for business than I do, more like her dad who is the epitome of businessman. Furthermore, he comes from a country where people are trained from birth for business and haggling. Almost every single thing for sale in his country is priced for negotiation. Our daughter has had the benefit of his influence.
For the sake of keeping the peace, my husband (mostly) stayed out of this yard sale. He did help a bit with the heavy lifting and occasionally snooped around here and there.
I promised myself I wouldn’t stress out. I promised myself I would stay calm. But the first morning of the sale, I started panicking when the “early birds” started arriving while I was still bringing items out of the house. I was letting my daughter sleep in, so I was on my own. As I was distracted setting up a different table, a woman asked me how much I wanted for two pairs of brand new earrings. They were gifts and didn’t look cheap to me. Surely, this woman would make me a fair offer.
She didn’t hesitate asking, “Would you take $2 for each?”
My heart sank and I said, “Sure.” It occurred to me I could have said, “I was thinking $5.”
I reminded myself, “Amy. Your goal is to get rid of things, not make money.” So why did I get disgruntled when I got low-balled? I might not be a good businesswoman, but I don’t like feeling taken advantage of, either.
Shortly after that, a large, intimidating man was asking his phone the worth of different items we had for sale. I asked myself why I didn’t do that to price my stuff. (Oh yeah, because my goal was to get rid of things, not make money.)
My husband happened to be snooping around just as this man yelled across the yard, asking me how much for a pair of sneakers. My husband started to tell me that they were very expensive shoes and like-new. He literally cringed and slapped his head when he heard my yell back, “$2!”
“Mom doesn’t want to make money,” my daughter teased. I became disgruntled again when this man, who was clearly looking to resale our stuff for a profit, asked for an even lower price on everything he wanted. My daughter haggled with him and I reminded him, “You already got a great price on those shoes.”
I finished the first day of the sale exhausted, earning a whopping $17 with dampened spirits. My mom always said, “It’s a dog eat dog world.”
A couple of hours after we’d closed shop for the day, which meant covering up everything with tarps and blankets, the doorbell rang. I went to the door in my pajamas and saw a small boy, maybe 7 years old at the most. He was holding a gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of coins. He said he had $10 in coins he’d been saving and he wanted to buy the racetrack. I really had no idea what was going on with my daughter’s table of toys so I yelled for her to come and help me with this little guy. I know my kid has good business sense, but $10 for a used racetrack?
We uncovered the table and I could see the sign clearly marked 10 cents per piece of the track. He hadn’t yet learned the difference between dollar signs and the cents symbol. There were less than 10 pieces. That little guy was willing to pay $10 for a $1 racetrack. What’s more, he could have just taken that track without us even knowing.
Just like that, my faith in humanity was restored. Despite a couple more instances of low balling, the sale ended up teaching me much more about the goodness of humanity than the dog eat dog world. Sure, some people will try to rip you off for a couple of dollars, but some will round up when they pay. Many more are trying to make the world a better place. They told us their stories as they shopped, explaining what they were looking for.
There was the mom whose daughter just left her husband. He was abusive towards her and her two very young children. The daughter had left without anything, so the shopper needed to stock her house with everything the children needed.
And I’m feeling sorry for myself because I could have charged $3 more for a pair of shoes? Humbling, indeed.
We also had several bittersweet Toy Story 3 moments, when my daughter tenderly showed little children how to play with the toys she was letting go of.
My mother never had a yard sale. Like someone else very dear to my heart, she was too sentimental to let go of the things she held dear. I’m realizing now how much my daughter has in common with my mother. I wish they could have known each other. I think they would have been the best of friends. Think of the fun they would have had yard saling together.
Amy McGarry grew up in Spokane Valley, Washington. After a 20 year hiatus, she moved back to Spokane Valley where she lives with her husband, daughter and two cats. She is the author of I am Farang: Adventures of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Thailand, available on Amazon.com.
