It’s been a few weeks since my last installment of this column, so I figured I would bring it back after a very eventful weekend, that saw me sit outside in the sun and bake for eight hours during a fruitless yard sale. It was here that I was met for the inspiration of this week’s theme, and once again, this stuff cannot be made up:
- First, an update on my cat Lawrence: Yep, still getting into trouble.
- Late in the week, Vinny from hockey, told me that he would be having a multi-family yard sale, and being that my closet, garage, and basement could be a museum to once valuable sports memorabilia items from the nineties that are not even worth the cardboard box they lay in, I asked if I could come along and sell. Lo and behold, as I went to look for these items, I found the meaning of the word “junk”. I did not even think we had the room for some of the things I found. Anyway, I only ended up making $27 at the sale, but it left me with a more valuable gift: a timeless look at the scuzzy people that a simple yard sale would bring to a nice neighborhood. People that looked like they just crawled out of a sewer were rummaging through my items, never buying anything. I admit, if what I was selling was actually good, I would not be selling it, but there’s an ass for every seat as I like to say, and thought that some of it might be able to find a home. It is here that we can take a lesson on how to notice when people are not going to buy something, no matter how intently they stare at your items. For instance, if someone asks you, “What is this?”, you automatically know they are not going to purchase it, because if you had to ask what it is, you do not need it in your house.
- The other question that always bothers me, to the point where I actually gave someone the finger behind my back so they would not see me, is, “Do you have any [insert item here]?” The item yesterday was furniture, but it could have been any number of things. Hmm, let’s see, if I had the item you asked about, would it not be in the driveway with all my other stuff? No! I’m hiding it in the back yard just for you, praying you would ask me.
- Maybe it is also time I added a “Scumbag of the Week” award to this blog, because if I did, then one of my non-paying customers would have won it this time around. I had an array of sports cards for sale, and this fat old man walks up to the table and picks up a baseball card that was marked $1. You understand? O-N-E D-O-L-L-A-R. One frickin’ dollar. One. Uno. He picked it up and studied it for literally ten minutes (I was timing him), turning it back and forth; reading, examining. Then he put it down and walked away. You would think the decision he had to make was going to sign his life away. Four hours later, right before we had to pack up, he pulled the same exact stunt, and walked away, again, without buying the card. I was in disbelief. I said a few choice words under my breath, and then said at a moderate volume, “Good, I don’t want your [expletive] dollar.” Maybe he heard me, maybe not, but I don’t care. Out of spite, I gave it to my friend’s neighbor’s son for free, figuring it would be better for him to get it for nothing than that old bastard for a dollar, just in case he wanted to come back a third time.
- At the end of the day, that kid made out pretty good. Wanting to get rid of this stuff more than actually make money, I gave him two large framed Rangers pictures, a hat, cards, and two PS2 games that I have no more use for. Another neighbor gave him an unopened chemistry set. At first he did not want it, but then I said, “Hey Zach, you can blow up your house with that.” Of course, he ran right over and took it. Ah, what we will do in the name of science and education!
- As for this next photo, I knew New Jersey was commercialized as all hell, but really?
- Lastly, the [second] “Idiot of the Week” award goes to a wonderful worker at the local Friendly’s restaurant. I walked in, wanting to buy a gift for a friend, and so I asked her, “Do you sell gift certificates?” She looked at me and said, “No, sorry.” Surprised and a little upset, I just responded, “Oh, okay.” and turned around to leave. It was then she stopped me by saying, “Wait, we sell gift cards. Let me get my manager.” It is all my fault, entirely. Next time I have to choose my words more carefully. The $7.50 an hour you are getting paid to be a moron does not entail that you actually have to think on the job. Silly me.
Did you witness something stupid this week? Have a good story that you would like included in the next column? Email it to me, and if it deals with stupidity in some way, I’ll publish it in the next edition! Click here to read the last one.