Garage Sale

I am not sure I have ever written about neighborhood garage sales. I may have, but I am too lazy to go back and look it up. Frankly, the computer I am using is about 12 words behind when I am typing. So, it is very similar to watching the teletype machine at Quantico. That, and I did not get obese by being proactive. I hate change.

Recently, we had a garage sale. Slowly but surely, I have whittled down the personal withholdings down to something quite managable. My kids hate it because my wife and I allow them to participate in contributing to the garage sale by going through their toys and games and setting some aside for the sale. To say there is some resistance is like saying Hiroshima was just a small gas leak. They want to keep everything. Forget it might make some other kid happy. My primary motivation for getting rid of MatchBox cars is that I am tired of having to wait half the day for the creases in my son's face to dissapear. When he sleeps on a few cars, they always seem to find strange places on the body that leave marks strategically placed in all the wrong areas. I am afraid to take him out in public or I might get arrested for child abuse when, in all reality, he just has too much shit.

When we lay things out in the driveway, it's amazing to me the way people stroll around looking and browsing. I wonder what goes through their head when they see a ski mask, some rope, nunchucks and a case of mace all grouped together labeled "must go together." A lady came up with the book, "The Greatest Salesman in the World" and asked how much it was. I replied "fifty cents." Whoa, she said, and threw her eyebrows up like the sun. She put the book back. What the fuck? It's a $12.00 book. What's worse is that she probably would haver paid with a $20 bill.

You really get to know your neighbors too. Knowing that some of them can't read, I feel safe in posting that we very well could be the smartest people on our block. Yes, sad, I know. One of our neighbors came up and said, "Hello, my name is (blurred out name). I live right across the street." No shit? You mean where you just walked from? Where I see you perched outside chain smoking like a heroin addict, your kids dropping F-bombs while you smoke enough Camels to clear out the Saudis? Is your daughter the one that thinks her brother is a cock sucker and usually at 8AM when I am pulling into my driveway with my kids? Oh, hello. No, we don't have any methodone for sale. My neighborhood is the only place I have ever really lived where I felt I needed to lock my car. The first inclination that I had moved to "da hood" may have been my landlord stating that, although the neighbors look like they may kill you, they will give you the shirt off their back. Really? That's nice, but I really don't want Hepatitis.

There was one gentleman of Asian decent that came by and purchase my exercise ball, a purse and a pair of women's shoes. To me, I thought he was prepping to get his dick removed within the year and we had finally given him the courage to do so. I figure by next summer I will be living next to Ms. Wang(less). I hope to GOD he doesn't come thank me later...or she....whatever.