Hump Day: Yard sales can bring out the best – and worst – in us

Hump Day 2 croppedHump Day
By Brian Cormier
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Moncton Times & Transcript

Spring is here – at least for now. We may still be in line for a nasty surprise or two, but I dare say that the tulips and crocuses coming up in the garden (not to mention the large number of urban pheasants squawking for mates in my neighbourhood) are a sure sign that we can put the shovels away and start cleaning up the yard.

Speaking of yards, it’s also yard sale time. I’ve never been a huge fan of picking through other people’s unwanted stuff, but I do know people who live for these sales. To them, it’s a sport. Perhaps that’s why I don’t like them. I’ll watch the last five minutes of a Stanley Cup or World Series game to see who wins, but that’s about it as far as sports go. Ever since that career-ending groin injury when I was a trapeze artist in Cirque du Soleil, sports have never meant the same to me.

Friends of mine will often have yard sales to make a few dollars by selling their unwanted stuff. The alternative is to just keep piling it up or taking it to the landfill – or donating it to someone who’ll sell it for you and make some money to run their charitable operations. That’s my personal preference, actually: throw everything in a box, give it to someone else to sell and hope they spend the profits wisely.

Yard sales are a lot of work! By the time I’d get everything organized, I’d want it out of my house immediately and wouldn’t have the patience to sit around and watch everyone rifle through it for treasures. And if I did end up going through with the sale, I’d probably just sell everything for $5 to the first person I’d see after I’d be sitting out in the cold for 10 minutes.

To be honest, though, I have gone to a few yard sales in the past and found a couple of neat things: a rocking chair, bookcases and – most memorably – a couple of handmade quilts. They were beautiful and were being sold by the family of an elderly lady who was moving into a seniors’ home. Everything in the house was for sale. To make matters worse, the lady was there in person watching everyone pick through her memories and walk out the door with them.

For some reason, I must have read somewhere to be a tough guy in these yard sale negotiations. Unfortunately, my timing was off. This was not the occasion to be the Yard Sale Godfather. It was the time to be compassionate and understanding. I can’t remember the price she was asking for the quilts, but I lowballed her something awful and, quite frankly, insulting.

Looking back, it was not one of my proudest moments. What the heck was I thinking? Of all the times to turn into Satan, I had to pick then? When sad grandma was selling all her worldly possessions to move into a seniors’ home? I can’t remember exactly how much I paid – something like $15 each. (They were for a single bed.)

yard sale 1They were beautiful, quality made and heavy. The stitching was exquisite. You could just imagine her sitting in front of the fireplace in the middle of winter making her quilts while watching Little House on the Prairie with her cat. And when she was done, she’d polish her rosary beads with holy water and pray for all the sick children and lonely puppies of the world.

And here I was, negotiating (way too) hard for a couple of quilts that, to be honest, I really didn’t need that badly. They would be going into a spare bedroom. Her eyes literally filled with tears and she told me that the original price “wasn’t that expensive.”

Her daughter jumped into the negotiations and told her to just let them go for the price I wanted. Grandma didn’t say much. She just nodded silently and sadly. I paid and left.

Had I walked by a mirror on the way out, I swear that I would have seen the reflection of Satan looking back at me – and deservedly so.

After that, I came to the conclusion that I should just not go to yard sales for fear that I would make another grandmother cry by turning into a super competitive negotiator from hell. To tell you the truth, I never truly enjoyed the quilts because of the guilt.

They’ve been in a storage bin in my basement for years.

Your sad grandmas can all sleep well tonight, though, folks. Satan the Negotiator has retired.

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