If the Martian equivalent of Larry King asked me to tell him what America is all about, my eyes would glisten with tears and I would speak eloquently about freedom, liberty and the pursuit of happiness: America, a country that nurtures creativity, education and being all that you can be. America, a country of equal opportunity, compassion and help for all who need it. A country that believes a mind is a terrible thing to waste.
That was before I had a yard sale.
What comes to mind now is that America is the land of the cheap, the home of the craven. OK, I admit it. I didn’t have a good attitude before this yard sale. I never wanted to have a yard sale.
But my husband told me to get over it. Many people have skeletons in their basement, he said. And there’s someone out there who wants to buy every one of them. Besides, we need the space. We’re not trying to make money. We’re just trying to get rid of junk and create some space.
We set the date, and just to make sure we wouldn’t back out at the last minute, we put an ad in the paper. The ad made it clear the sale would start at 10 a.m.-a red flag to the first of the yard sale regulars-The Early Bird. We were still dragging stuff out of the house at 8:30 when she ran up the walk with an expectant look on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she lied. “I don’t like to get there before people are ready. Did your ad have a time ?”
Her tone and manner indicated that she was accustomed to being scolded for arriving early. I, on the other hand, was thrilled to see her. What I saw was an opportunity to end the whole thing before 9 o’clock.
“Look,” I said. “You can have the whole yardful for 20 bucks. I’ll help you load it up. Or how about if I load some in my car and follow you home? Just write me a check, or use your credit card.”
“Uh, uh, I-I’ll come back later when you’re finished setting up,” she said backing away from me.
By 9:30 passers-by thought we were giving away money. Our tiny front yard pulsated with people-The Collectors, The Time Killers, The Hagglers, The Bizarre and Weird and, of course, The Totally Insane.
The Collectors were actually Just Killing Time, but they didn’t want us to know that, so they asked for esoteric items. Did we have any 17th Century silver asparagus tongs? “No,” I said, “we’re all out.” Well, did we have any irregular Amish undershirts (size large)? “No,” I said. “Could I interest you in some Heidi Fleis baby pictures?”
“Ah, no, I don’t think so,” the poseur said, hastily forking over $2 for a Sunbeam mixer with no bowls and no beaters.
Two of The Totally Insane rummaged through the cartons of books, one breathing on the cover of every book and then shining it with his coat sleeve.
About that time a woman appeared at my ear and shouted, “WHAT ELSE YOU GOT?!!!” She reminded me of a Norweigan Elk Hound I once knew, although she didn’t slobber as much.
I looked at the people rummaging and pillaging in my yard, and I looked at the woman who had just barked in my ear.
“HERE’S WHAT I GOT,” I shouted at all of them. “YOU CAN HAVE THE BOOKS WITH THE VERY CLEAN COVERS, YOU CAN HAVE THE BATTERY-OPERATED SILENT BAT CALL, YOU CAN HAVE THE `ROSS IS BOSS’ T-SHIRTS, YOU CAN EVEN HAVE THE MICROWAVE, CROCKPOT AND THE BALONEY HELPER. YOU CAN HAVE ANYTHING. JUST, IN THE NAME OF FREEDOM, LIBERTY AND THE PURSUIT OF OUR HAPPINESS, GET OFF MY LAND!
Only in America.
