Other Voices
Poets say, "Love makes the world go around." Economists say, "No, merchandising makes the world go around." They're both wrong. Garage sales make the world go around.
History says the first ever garage sale was held in 1931 at the stately home of Alma Spreckels, the beautiful and eccentric patron saint of the Palace of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco. She was probably selling her collection of souvenir bric-a-brac or half-cracked chinaware. Since that time America has elevated garage sales to an art form for two reasons: we have more garages and more discards than any country on earth.
Working on the theory that one person's trash may be another person's treasure, garage sales are the last stage in the life span of accumulated paraphernalia. Without garage sales, the final phase would be an ignominious trip to the recycling bin or the city dump. Instead, owners purvey these castoffs to scrounging shoppers for a few cents on the dollar of real value. Everyone gains something - the sellers clean out their closets and garages at a profit without sales tax while the buyers gloat over their bargains and drive happily away. The earth spins a little in the process.
On Saturday mornings, usually, in my territory of Los Altos and Mountain View, the sellers for that day turn their driveways into miniature shopping centers. As shoppers drive the neighborhoods searching for deals, they read scrawled cardboard signs nailed to telephone poles on strategic corners giving time, place and directional arrows. If the weather is good and the mood of the citizenry right, caravans of bargain hunters start early to get first pick of the bargains.
Psychology and timing play a big part in this drama. Sellers won't haggle over prices early in the morning but the choice of products is better. Later in the day, however, sellers are willing to haggle but the choices are slimmer. As the saying goes, "you pay your nickel and take your chance" and that's where the fun is.
A lot of work and planning is involved in setting up a garage sale. Like sorting potatoes, there's a lot of decisions to make. Should you sell Sally's baby shoes or Johnny's skates? How about dad's old fishing rod or mom's sewing kit? A lot of memories are sold with everything that goes. How much are these things worth?
Then there's the pricing. If one asks too much the article won't sell. Sears learned a long time ago that low prices move merchandise. Crafty shoppers will always try to bargain down, so one has to price the item high enough for haggle room. But not too high to quench interest in the item. As in a poker game, one has to "know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em."
The seller must display the wares to the best advantage. Small items should be placed on card tables or benches to be better seen, and close in to prevent shoplifting. Large items like vacuum cleaners or garden tools can be leaned against tables closer to the sidewalk. Yet many rank amateurs dump their stuff in all manner of disorder and seem to do all right. Two cardinal rules apply: (1) Have an honest, female cashier to collect the money (women are more efficient and charming than men). She must have a chair, a table, lots of change, a friendly smile and a quick eye. (2) Mark all items plainly. Electrical things, i.e. radios or razors, should be sold "as is" with no guarantees. Let the buyer beware.
As a retiree on the cheap, I've became a professional garage sale devotee. I've bought lots of necessities and a few luxuries at frightfully low prices. This helps the pocketbook and gets me going on Saturday mornings. I've bought a $50 lawn edger for $2, a $45 hedge trimmer for $3 and $20 worth of books for 50 cents.
I've looked for things for my wife and friends. Several months ago, Barbara asked me to keep my eye pealed for a yogurt maker. Hers had gone kaput and she couldn't find one in the stores. I'd had no luck until I happened to stop at a so-called friend's place.
She was having a garage sale in preparation to selling her house. She had a beautiful display of 25 years of high living scattered on the driveway. I casually asked her if she perchance had a yogurt maker.
She thought for a moment and said, "Yes, I had one but I threw it away because it had a cracked lid. Maybe it's still in the garbage can. Let's look out back."
We went back and sorted through three cans of very sophisticated garbage. We found the besmeared yogurt machine tangled up with a piece of twine, some banana peelings and coffee grounds. Then she had the temerity to charge me $2 for the precious item, proving it pays to have friends in high places.
The silly thing works beautifully. Barb is happy, I'm a hero, and my friend is richer so we all gained something.
I think there ought to be a "garage sale" holiday, appropriately recognized like Labor Day or the Fourth of July, to honor this national contribution to helping make the world go around.