whimsicalsteve:

Saw this at my bus stop tonight. I was just getting over the ‘greage’ part when I noticed the ‘sell’ part as well. Someone seriously needs to go back to school.

Because that 6’ x 6’ cell can’t fit all your old Power Ranger action figures :[

sfreporter:

Only in Santa Fe. Submit your ‘Eyedropper’ pics to culture@sfreporter.com

A perfect example of the reluctant seller, courtesy of Ghost World.  You can always tell when a yard sale host doesn’t really want to sell an object.  A dramatized account of a version of this back-and-forth that I’ve actually seen: 

Person One:”Would you take fifty cents for this?”

Person Two: “Oh, that thimble with the kitten paw prints all over it?  No, um, sorry… that’s fifteen bucks.”

Person One: “But it’s chipped.”

Person Two: “I CAN TELL YOU WOULDN’T LOVE IT ENOUGH!”

When you have to get rid of something you once cherished, you at least want to make sure that the new owner is going to appreciate it enough.  Last week I was helping a woman with her yard sale and she had a pair of white high heeled shoes from her youth that she clearly had a very strong attachment to.  I don’t think she would have been willing to sell them, but after we spent the day together, she gave them to me.

“The happiest part of today was when I gave you those shoes,” she said as I left.  

Heart = melted.  

If someone doesn’t crochet me that adorable elf hat STAT, I’ll cry. 

#yarnyarnyarnyarnyarn

Is it wrong that my favorite yard sales are usually the ones with the best displays of Bad Taste?  

Things that I found in impressively poor taste at this particular sale:

1.  Old Woman is not only selling an Old Bra (apparently flea market purchased I’d say, given my expertise in lo-qualitee lingerie), she’s selling it for TEN BIG ONES, which is pretty much the same cost as a new bra at Marshall’s.  I’ve never felt quite comfortable with the whole “undergarments bought from a front lawn” thing.

2.  Funny story about this free box: whilst we were browsing the sale another woman approached the box and loudly exclaimed that she believed that she had made that pink doily.  ”My sister bought it for me at a yard sale!” the host replied.  ZING!

3.  Chipmunks bursting from a boot… BURSTING!  (Enough said, right?)

4.  I love the fact that the woman hosting the sale clearly took the time to erase parts of this whiteboard, but then apparently got bored and was like, fuck it, I bet the next owner will have Thursday off too.  

5.  Raise your hand if you also think it’s ludicrous to believe that anyone would let those two fragile babes get stranded alone on that rock to casually do some flyfishing.  

charliehorsezine:

Yard Sale! by docpop on Flickr.

Yard Sale Rule #593: you can NEVER have enough denim wallets.  

As I said in my last post, I spent the weekend back up in ‘Cuse, saying goodbye to good friends and hitting up some yard sales before blasting off to Turkey next week.  I knew when I set out Saturday morning that one of my objectives was to find a birthday gift for my good friend HenPet, because I wasn’t going to be able to make it for his actual bday.  

I arrived at my third sale and starting perusing the haphazardly positioned piles dotting the front yard.  There were some old records (Henry doesn’t have a record player at school), a few tables (how many beer pong spots does a college kid really need?), and a cool old keyboard (he’s not really the musical type, and I didn’t want all his roommates to end up hating me…).  I also spotted a box of stuffed animals all of which looked a little tired and dirty.  I was about to pass up the fluffy selection to make a beeline for a ceramic rooster I’d spotted, when suddenly a little girl of about seven popped up by my left arm.

“Those used to be mine,” she said softly but matter-of-factly, pushing back the long dark hair that had flopped in front of her face and pointing at the box of old toys, “And I’m selling them all to help us make money to move to Florida.”

She and her family had lived in the same house in Syracuse since as long as she could remember, but the next weekend they were packing everything into their car to head down south.  The eventual goal: make it to Argentina, where her mother was born and where her brother was currently living.  

The girl was so tiny and sweet that when she told me how much she used to love one of the animals—a (yellowing) white tiger—I knew that I would have to buy it for HenPet.  

It was worth every penny of the one dollar that it cost, and now I’m sure it will enjoy its second life as a furry sentinel at Henry’s senior year house.  

Went yardsailing in Syracuse this weekend.  Someone’s clever.  I would have bought it maybe, but then my existing grandfathers (all three of them!) would have gotten jealous.  Good way to rope in a buyer though…