(Credit to my mom for the title.)
Here’s another story from the Easter-weekend estate sales at the 55+ gated community. (Did I mention it was gated? There was a guard station and everything; it was like trying to pass through customs on the world’s lamest road trip.)
Anyway. We rolled up to this one estate sale, and it had a few interesting things, like this enormous dead moth that would look great in anyone’s vintage dead bug collection:
And this framed school essay about trees and the wind:
But then we heard the shouting. …Which, tbh, is an unusual thing to hear at an estate sale.
“You’ve been doing this all morning! Give me that; you’re not buying that!”
There’s a scuffle in the kitchen. …Wait, a scuffle? That can’t be right; this is an estate sale, not Columbus Farmers Market. One of the sellers is physically removing a colander from one of our fellow customer’s hands. The shouting continues. “I’ll have you escorted! You’re done!”
“Get out!! Out!! GET OUT!!!!” The seller looks like an angry-face emoji come to life. I don’t see what happens to the customer—I assume they ran for it. Meanwhile the seller continues to huff and puff around the house, grousing about how angry they are and how that awful person was doing…whatever it was they were doing. Like, how much of a rabble-rouser do you have to be to get forcibly removed from an estate sale?
Later in the car, we tried to parse it out. The best we could figure out was that the person had been complaining about the prices, or maybe the quality of goods (reminder, they were trying to sell their children’s framed homework). They almost got into a fist-fight over this. (Of course, we were in New Jersey.)
“And this was a professional estate sale!” one of us remarked. “Yeah, you could really tell.”
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