Marathon in a Fanny Pack

You guys. YOU GUYS! I went to 25 freakin’ yardsales yesterday! It was the best. …At least I think it was; I’ll let you know when I’ve worked up the energy to crawl back out of bed. (Honey, when you read this post, could you please bring me some cereal?)

yardsale-mapSelections from the three (?!?!) maps they gave us for yesterday’s sales.
Crazy-man scrawls are mine.

So it turns out yesterday was my little town’s community-wide yardsale. Yardsales, yardsales as far as the eye could see! (Well, more or less. We actually have burned-out factories as far as the eye can see, but beyond those? Yardsales. Free rusty nail with every purchase.) You could tell it was supposed to be a big deal, because they had way more signs up than they did for, say, last week’s budget referendum. Pretty sure the yardsales had a better turnout, too, which is weird, because they both primarily attract old people and angry bloggers.

They were selling maps for the sales at one of the local diners, rather than just, you know, actually telling us where any of the sales were. I can kinda get why they’d do thatafter all, when you’re selling a product, it makes sense to make it as annoying as possible for anyone to buy said product. It’s the same reason why most grocery stores these days charge an entry fee and nobody really knows where Disney World is.

The first few sales I went to hadn’t started setting up yetwhich is typical of southern Connecticut, where the “start time” is more of an optimistic suggestion than anything you’d want to followbut once they kicked off, they kicked it like they were a horse and you were accidentally standing behind it. (…Yeah, metaphors were never really my strong point. It’s like yardsales are the ocean, and I’m a person who’s really bad at metaphors.)

First up:

coach-briefcase-got-married granddaughter-said-cool

Some yardsales you’re lucky if you even get price tags; these things came with stories. (Also I like the implication that getting married means you can’t be an executive anymore. Is that the law? Does that mean I’ll never get to become CEO of the Ninja Turtles?! Honey, where’s my cereal?!)

An actual conversation I overheard at this sale:

Scene: A potential buyer is studiously examining a pile of garbage, like she’s trying to find the right wire to cut on a person who’s bad at metaphors.

Seller: “The jewelry boxes are only a dollar because I didn’t want to dust them off.”
Buyer: “…Well you know, I won’t either. It’ll just be my dust now.”

That’s actually a common theme at yardsales around here; people really don’t like cleaning their stuff off before putting a price tag on it. Sure, don’t take the two seconds to wipe your Wii Fit off with a napkin; someone’s definitely going to buy it as-is:

dirty-wii-fit

(I guess that’s just my filth and grime now.)

Elsewhere, I found the homes of a couple kids who had an awesome childhood, and probably a very disappointing Saturday morning:

crown-bed inflatable-spaceship

That last one was at a moving sale. “I’m sorry Junior; you’ll have to leave the inflatable spaceship behind.” As if moving isn’t hard enough on the kids as it is. I bet Dad got to take his inflatable car.

I really did enjoy these paintings of cow intestines:

modern-yardsale-art

Oh, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the guy selling a BIG BOX OF ADULT MAGAZINES at his sale! I always love sharing these because it means my site’s Google ratings are gonna go through the roof:

box-of-porn

This was of course strategically positioned like two feet away from where his kids were selling lemonade and cookies. Shhhno one tell him the Internet is a thing now.

Speaking of cool boxes, here’s one with a bunch of cats on it.

box-of-cats

The tag says it’s a music box. I wonder what it plays? Also for sale here was this hilarious gag gift:

eating-is-my-life

Does that seriously say “Fating is My Life”? I can’t imagine why the original recipient didn’t want it.

Last one: over on the “pile of books we’ve been trying to sell for three consecutive years” table, I found this interesting rewrite of The Twelve Days of Christmas:

twelve-babies-of-christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
A bunch of babies in a bucket.

“And that’s why every Christmas we visit Daddy in jail.”

After five hours of yardsales (seriously), here was my final haul:

fire-emblem-path-of-radiance-disc

A videogame. …Yeah, just the one.

To the uneducated eye, this may look like an ordinary game (for a system that’s at least a decade out of date); but it’s actually quite rare. Used copies of it go for $60+ on Amazon; if it’s new in the box, it can fetch over a hundred.

I got it for two bucks. My friend Mike was pretty excited:

mike-messages

FURTHER ADVENTURES

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