As I’m learning, there are two kinds of estate sales: those, like the one I went to a couple of weeks ago, where everything’s set up more or less like a typical yardsale, with items priced and arranged tastefully, and professional sellers buzzing about just delighted with the prospect of helping you buy their things.
Then, there’s ones like the one I went to today. Look at your home, right now. Notice how you have everything arranged. Notice how everything’s set up. Very personal. Very cozy. That’s how this place was set up—which is to say, it wasn’t set up at all. Nothing was priced; nothing was arranged neatly on tables. It was as if the owners had gone on vacation, and in the meantime the most enterprising robbers of all time took it over and tried to sell everything. It made me feel weird and creepy.
I didn’t buy anything, although I did find this—on a table they set up in the front yard, to display the most choice merchandise: