The Joy of Garage Sales

Tip of the Day: When you suffer for any reason, Just take a few very, very deep breaths. It can be of some help to you. -    Sri Chinmoy Two of my favourite activities, conflictingly, are shopping… and getting rid of things. There are few things more fun than going to a market or a shop, and seeing what’s on offer. Perhaps, if I’m in an extreme mood, I’ll even buy something! But few things are more satisfying than cleaning out your room or garage of all the unnecessary, pointless items that are cluttering the space – especially if this “junk” can go to a good home. If you are very attached to something, but have no use for it, getting rid of it can be therapeutic, lightening your load of one attachment. A few weeks ago, we had a garage sale at our house. The main reason was to raise rent money for the Sri Chinmoy Centre, but I must admit I was more enticed by the secondary reason: getting rid of stuff. Our garage was so crowded, in fact, that there was no space in it to actually hold a garage sale! Instead, we moved all of our sale items to the front of the garage. We were still in the midst of doing this, around six in the morning, when we had our first prospective customer. We had made it clear in our newspaper advertisement that the sale would not start until seven, but Amalendu was putting up signs around the area, so one lady decided to come visit. She wanted books. No particular titles, authors or genres; just books. We were still  unpacking our ware, but I confessed that we didn’t have many books to sell. She poked her head in the garage side door, to see several of my own books – my private library, used for reference and research – stacked in the corner. “There are some books there!” she said. “Sorry,” I replied, “those aren’t for sale.” “Yes they are,” said Rathin, wittily. The lady decided that she liked his answer best, and I was afraid that I’d have to tackle her to prevent her from waltzing into the garage and unloading all my books into a sack. Fortunately, I somehow convinced her that Rathin was joking, and she surrendered, albeit reluctantly. As everyone else conveniently needed to go to work, I manned the garage sale until the afternoon. We didn’t sell everything, of course, but we also said rid ourselves of many needless things that were able to go to a better home. When I buy furniture or other goods, I always like to buy something new (if I can afford it), rather than second-hand. Still, I salute anyone who furnishes their house with objects from garage sales, flea markets and eBay. As there is too much rubbish already filling the world’s landfills, recycled goods are an environmentally sound way to show your harmony with the planet. And they’re, like, cheap. Even better, if something was really “pre-loved”, it was probably well looked-after – and is hence in immaculate condition. We had a pair of speakers, hand-made with loving care by a genius friend of ours. They had done us proudly in the old Centre, but now it was time to say goodbye. They were too large for our new, cosier Centre. After all these years, they still sounded great… as Alf demonstrated by playing Mozart CDs through them, so that the music blasted out clearly for all the street to hear. (As it was 7:30 am, I made him stop this… until later.) It sounded so good that we didn’t want to sell them – until we remembered that, of course, we no longer had any need (or space) for them. One guy, attracted by the sound, asked me how much they were. I gave him a price - $80 – and he started pulling faces. I knew that they were worth every cent, but I was willing to negotiate a little. “I’ll give you ten,” he offered scornfully. He then talked (in the most expert-sounding way) about what rubbish they were, and that I could get new – and better – ones for that same price from the local shopping mall. I was not convinced, and politely turned down his “generous” “offer”. He walked away, shaking his head. “You might as well just use them as floaties,” he said – which basically proved a flaw in his self-proclaimed expertise. Whatever the sound quality (which was demonstrably excellent, thank you), they were large timber-framed monsters. They would not make good floaties. Perhaps he meant to say “doorstoppers”, except with these things in the doorway, nobody would be able to get into the house. I imagine that this kind of guy likes to visit garage sales, feeding on the seller’s ignorance and insecurities so he can get a ridiculously good deal. Several years ago, his ploy might have worked with me. Indeed, I once minded a garage sale where a man asked me about a doohickey that belonged to a friend. It was a great doohickey, one of the best of its kind... and I had no idea what it was, as I admitted. The man then did something unusual: even though he had no idea what this doohickey was, he offered to take it off my hand for considerably less than the marked price. Of course, only a complete twit would let him get away with that! And I did. This time, fortunately, I was confident of these speakers. They were worth far more than $10. The guy walked away, doing his best to look unimpressed. Only minutes later, a lady bought the speakers – and happily, her own estimation of their value was considerably higher. She seemed very excited with her new purchase, and I am sure that she is still enjoying them. So… a customer was happy, and Alf and I were happy because a much-loved pair of speakers had found a good home. I’m sure that the speakers were happy as well, even though they didn't say anything. A perfect resolution: everyone was happy! An hour later, as the sale was winding down, the guy who had poured scorn over the speakers returned to the garage sale, to see the empty space where the speakers had been. He looked somewhat disappointed, and slunk away quietly. OK, maybe not everyone was happy…