Garage Sale

Jedi II made $5.50 yesterday at our community garage sale.

Every year in the spring our neighborhood has one day that everyone carts out their old, dusty items and sets them up on the lawn outside of their house. Bikes with rusty chains and rock-hard brakes, an old mattress, mismatched dishes, plastic cups from fast food spots, sequined dresses, golf clubs and old vacuums get their annual taste of sunshine before being hauled back to the basement or finding their place at the back of the closet again. We toothfully smile at the trucks, vans and Cadillac's drifting by our house while the drivers scan our wares for bargains.

While I am still lugging outgrown toys into position, Jedi II has unfolded the legs of his table and carefully placed an old, sheathed circus sword, Captain Jack with Sword-Fighting Action figure, a Power Rangers "cell phone," a palm-sized vinyl basketball and other trinkets on top. He then moves it right next to the sidewalk and begins skateboarding around the block.

Jedi II has a knack for knowing what his audience wants. When he sold hand-decorated cookies, it was less about the size, shape, flavor, or color of the cookie, and more about how many candies he could press into the frosting.

Yesterday was the same. Once the sound of the skateboarding echoed around the neighborhood, kids his age and their friends started showing up with their bag of change.

With a silent hand raised in greeting, the buyer would usually ask "How much is this?" and point to whatever object they were interested in.

"$.50"

"Oh," they would say and keep looking. Jedi II would resume skateboarding and the unsatisfied customer would either wander over to the next sale or try to show off another recent purchase to Jedi II.

Sometimes the customer would simply say "OK," the money would change hands, (Jedi II's voice calling down the block "Mom, can I have 50 cents? I need change."), and the customer would again wander away with their eyes fixed on the new object in their hands.

Meanwhile my wife is locked into fierce negotiations with a new neighbor who lives across the street. A women's bike with a ripped seat, but inflated tires sits waiting.

"She's crazy if she thinks people are going to pay forty bucks for a scratched, rusty-chained, seat-snagged bike." Then she adds disapprovingly "She doesn't know how garage sales work. I'll let her sweat for awhile."

We pack up our unsold items (which is most of what we laid out three hours earlier) and get ready for Jedi II's soccer game at noon.

"Let me know if you'll take $20," my wife calls over to her as she slips into the van.

"You can have it for $25," the neighbor returns, to which my wife just chuckles.

After the game, we roll slowly back into our neighborhood, then our block. She casually scans the neighbor's lawn for the bike,

which is now gone.