I survived the weekend rummage sale. I can't believe all the work it was and all the drama that ensued from it.
On Saturday when we set up, we had the old retired guys stroll in and ask for tools. No tools. What we did have is clothes. We had nice clothes, too, Anne Taylor Loft, Abercrombie and Fitch, Talbots, and assorted other mall store apparel. The trouble is, that they were all sizes 4-8 longs and small and extra small tops. That is my wife! (I feel so unman right now. At least I didn't say "cute tops." Guys should never use the term "top" to describe a shirt, nor should they use the term "cute" to describe anything but a girl, but I digress.) Anyway, the trouble with these sizes is that rummage share shoppers are generally NOT that size. They are breakfast biscuit totin', men's sweat pants wearin', full-figured gals. That is fine with me, except they don't buy my wife's clothes. As a matter of fact, they look at the size tags and scoff, as if we don't know how to market to the "pro's."
I know what you're thinking. No, they weren't scoffing at the price. I would say that $0.25 for an Aeropostale SHIRT isn't something to scoff at. So, if you are in the market for the aforementioned sized clothing for cheap, check out our local Goodwill Stores, because that is where they are now.
Around lunch time, my sister announces that she doesn't feel "right". This is the sister that is STILL waiting for disability because she has every malady in the book. A short time later, she goes into a seizure and we had to call for an ambulance. She is STILL in the hospital as I type. The odd thing about it is that, the shoppers didn't miss a beat. They continued shopping like they were glad that there was one less person to compete with for the curling irons and roller sets that were in limited supply. I assume that they were trying to be polite and not gawk at the spectacle, but maybe that is wishful thinking.
When the weekend was over, we didn't get rid of very many of the big items - the important ones that would free up space. I don't even know how much we made. I haven't felt like even counting it. My wife and I were exhausted, sunburned and after the clean-up, we were pretty much in bed by 8:30 Sunday night.
Monday morning, I get a call from my tenant complaining about some things about the sale. Little things like a couple of stones out of place and two balloons that somehow got loose and got caught up in a wire. He also complained that some stuff marked "free" was ransacked overnight and a mess was made. He lectured me how certain items were not going to be picked up by the garbage service.
I told him that I okay'd all that with him before we put it out there and HE told me that the garbage men would pick up all the stuff that was left. He replied that he shouldn't have told me that. "Oh, my fault," I thought. "I shouldn't have let YOU tell me that." However, I went and took care of all of it. However, we are going to butt heads on the extra building on the property I use for storage. He hinted that I am going to have to rent a storage space somewhere for anything that didn't sale. Not going to happen. I rent the house to him dirt cheap. I pay $250 every month for him to live there (my mortgage payment minus his rent). I am not going to pay more than that to store stuff when I OWN the extra building. When he buys the place, I will move it; I will be able to afford it then - but not until then. I have offered sharing some space in there for him to store some things, but we'll see what happens.
I guess I just don't have enough drama in my life. One day at a time . . .