King of Sales

Our friends across the street joined us for a garage sale at our end of the street. Our husbands were under orders to straighten up the garages, sweep the floors, and make space for tables. My husband, Ed, moved items we weren’t selling behind a tarp. He posted a sign that read Private. He arranged folding tables in a chevron shape for easy shopping. I placed clean, creased linens sorted by colors and marked with sizes and prices, in stacks on the tables. I believe in full disclosure and post small notes stating any imperfections. Old furniture for sale was polished; antique cups and plates were displayed with starched doilies, and costume jewelry hung from a mirror. Entire boxes were marked $1 for all items of little value.

Ed sells man goods, and every sale is a competition. It seems that tools are more in demand than housewares and décor. Once, I sold a total of $210. When he showed me his sales totaling $380, I gave him a good-natured punch on his bicep.

Ed strategically placed the sandwich board signs I made throughout the area. People lined up at 7:30 a.m., but we refused to open the garage door until the 8 a.m. start time. Randi, across the street, had made some baked goods to sell, and brought muffins and lattes over before the sale. Her husband, Beau, was making popcorn in their garage right at 8 a.m., busily shaking the pan on his cookstove, as the kernels popped loudly. He was going to give small bags of popcorn to customers who wanted some. By 8:45 a.m., all the non-participating neighbors had stopped by.

A beautiful, large tablecloth from my mother was marked $8. I didn’t use it and felt my deceased mom would be happy if someone bought it and used it. When a neighbor offered $5 for it, I balked. She tried to barter, but I held up my hand.

“Please stop. This was my mother’s. $8 is a fair price for it. I won’t lower the price.” The neighbor handed me the money, assuring me that she would cherish it.

A crystal frog tagged $2 was held by a woman who asked if I would take a dollar. I said no. Her reply: “What are you going to do; keep it in your garage, tagged $2?” I snatched the frog out of her hand and said, “Yes!”

Her snotty question raised my ire. I placed the crystal frog back onto the table, remembering driving in the Czech Republic, where I got it. I turned my back on the insolent customer.

I know: ‘it's a garage sale; people want it all cheaply.’ However, I price things fairly and negotiate some, but I refuse to be bullied or insulted.

A man and his son walked in, and I watched them from lowered eyes. The father kept peering at items hanging on the wall and on high racks. None were tagged because they weren’t for sale. I was busy with a customer when I realized he had pulled a corner of the tarp back.

“Excuse me, Sir, but that stuff back there is not for sale.” He walked around the garage, looking.

Ed came from inside the house and was behind the tarp. The man mumbled that he was hoping to find a keyboard. Suddenly, a piano tune could be heard. The customer kept turning in circles, searching for the source of the music.

“That sounds like a piano and I’m looking for a keyboard. Do you have one for sale?” He was in front of me, asking. A corner of the tarp was pulled back to reveal Ed at the keyboard, a grin on his face, one hand holding the tarp's edge.

Of course, Ed owned exactly what the guy wanted - a keyboard (unbeknownst to me).

“$190 and you can have it,” Ed told the man.

“$175.”

“$180.” Ed smiled at him, dimples showing.

“Sold!” I chuckled as he counted out the money and handed it to Ed. It was 4 p.m., the time set to close up our garage sale.

We shut the garage door and went to Randi’s with our cash box. “How much did you sell?” I asked her.

“$170. Beau was handing out the popcorn; then he had to make more because people were buying it for $1.50 a bag!” We laughed, and she asked, “How’d you guys do?”

“I sold $200 and got rid of that ugly armoire – it went for $65.” Ed was at my side. “How much cash are you pocketing, Love?”

“Let’s see. The keyboard was $180. The table saw was $95; my old edger sold for $20. The Russian teenagers wanted my ripped Levi’s, and they paid me $25 for each pair. What else…”

“Dammit, you have surpassed all of us again, so just shut up.”

When we went to bed, I giggled, poking his chest. “Everybody always wants what you are selling.”

“I know what’s good, Babe. Like you.” He winked at me, and we snuggled under the bedding.

 Copyright © 7/11/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin

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