How much for your stuff?

An interesting thing happened in Bogan-ville-ea today.

We held a garage sale. You know, that thing you do when you're moving to the other side of Australia and your life's about to be packed into a shipping crate?

Nice sign huh? It took me almost a minute to make. Some guy tried to buy it at 7:10 this morning. I resisted the urge. Told him to come back at 2pm if he really wanted it. 



We're not really garage sale people. We don't consider garage sales a major hobby or spend Saturdays driving around looking at other people's crap in case there's a treasure to be found. Our effort involved an ad in the Saturday paper (minimum charge of course, being tight-arses) and an old corkboard with 'garage sale' painted in hot pink landscaper's marking paint. 

We did realise that people would start arriving early. 6 am is a little ridiculous though and we ignored the drive-bys until we'd crawled out of bed at a quarter to 7. Coffee in one hand, 'float' in the other, out we went into our garage to find out how much our stuff is worth.

Which is... next to nothing, apparently.

OK, we made a bit, and really, we didn't expect that anyone would really want things like Kaitlin's Barbie car, an old record player (yes, we're old enough to own one) and a book called 'China - Land of Eternity'. But I did kind of expect that people might want a spare TV (or three), a printer, a chest of drawers or a bookshelf.



I really needed a belly laugh today and some of the Garage Sale antics were priceless. Like Kaitlin negotiating a price for dress-up fairy wings with a three year old. And Brad farewelling his Lego Ferrari to a kid called Bailey. A (potentially gay, but no proof) Indian couple who asked if they could go inside and see our bed in case they wanted to buy it. Me selling the massive Antler suitcases we took to America (true, they survived LAX, but really, they ARE the size of a small fridge) and realising I hadn't emptied them out properly and so quickly tipping little bottles of hotel shampoo out onto the driveway. A lovely Fijian family trying to fit out a house on the cheap. And, of course, Tasha putting on a show for entertainment (I think it's a good look having your dog laying a turd whilst you're trying to sell your tele... good look...noice).

I nicknamed Brad 'Shopkeeper Sam'. Whilst I sat on a chair typing and doing some work (and checking Facebook), he stood, literally, the whole time behind a chest of drawers manning the shop. People would come in and he'd be like "make an offer" and start the process. He's a legend! I kept apologising for our stuff, like, "ohhhhh sorry about that dent" and he was talking everything up. One guy asked if he had any old pennies (weird question...) and Brad said, "Yeah actually, I do" and ran off, got them and sold them! At one point I thought I might have been for sale too!!!

With our neighbours agreeing to take the last of our crap off our hands 'for the rumpus room, you know, in the future if we ever get one', we settled in to take stock of what's left that we won't need. Brad's photographing my shoes to sell on Ebay (yes, there are STILL excess shoes... they're coming out of EVERYWHERE!!!). My car will be sold after Christmas (after that 'oopsie' on the bumper bar's fixed). The house goes on the market after Australia Day (we've already knocked back a pre-offer of half a million...so apparently it will sell pretty quickly). Then, I guess I resign, the packing people come and off we go.

So, as the Mastercard ad would say: used suitcase - $30'. Selling your old crap to strangers: priceless!