I understand why garage sales are so popular. You get to recycle the stuff you no longer want and recoup some money in the process, while buyers get a deal on something they may want or need. Or at least think they do at the time. Sometimes I think it’s more about the deal, the haggle and the sheer fun of getting something for almost nothing – not to mention the brag and boast afterward.
But it takes more nerve than I have to actually sell my junk. I find it humiliating to publicly expose my previous moments of insanity and poor taste. It’s embarrassing to admit I actually bought this tasteless thing or held onto that rusted push lawnmower for a dozen years, not to mention signalling to all my neighbours that I am so cheap that I would like 50 cents for it.
This year, we actually had some things that, while still perfectly good, no longer suited our family age or stage. The question was, should we hold a garage sale for items such as the oversized, garish Christmas-tree balls that I’d sworn would look charming on a tree in our yard, or the vast collection of cheap glass vases from home-delivered flower arrangements?
Was the hassle of setting up, pricing and haggling worth the effort? Was sharing our bad taste, moments of madness or sheer laziness worth the commentary or gossip from passing neighbours?
From a green perspective, we know it makes sense to help reduce the amount of garbage ending up in landfill by diverting our unwanted items to be reused.
So this spring, we put our old “treasures” by the curb one day with the hope that they would be enjoyed by another family that couldn’t afford new. Past experience suggested that this would work: In our neighbourhood, people cruise in minivans on weekends for the sole purpose of treasure-seeking.
We had high hopes that our latest “treasures” would disappear quickly. But we weren’t prepared for the feeding frenzy that followed.
Out first went the old patio furniture: a couch, two single chairs, a coffee table plus two footstools. My husband, nice guy that he is, hosed and wiped them down and dusted off the cushions before we schlepped all of it out to the curb. Both the frames and cushions were of moderate quality and in very good condition.
Before we could put out the third piece in the set, a young couple stopped by on their bikes and asked if the furniture was being given away.
They then laid claim as the guy called his brother-in-law to bring his van for transporting.
My husband suggested that we move the furniture back to deter others from stopping. The woman thought this was a great idea and proceeded to direct my husband where to place the couch so she could work on her tan while waiting for the van. Who “suntans” any more? And if they do, who does it outside someone else’s home?
Then, almost immediately, neighbours who live in a multimillion-dollar house across the street proceeded to scoop the furniture away from the astonished couple, running across the street and taking several trips to place it all in their yard. They hardly needed second-hand furniture and I’m guessing they probably spend more on vodka every month than the value of the furniture.
To this day, we’ve never seen them use the furniture, nor have they thanked us. Not even a vodka shot.
Next, we put out some old garden tools.
A woman driving by asked if the tools were free. We said yes. She was delighted, explaining that her rake had just broken and that ours would be a great replacement. Apparently, all her other garden tools were broken, too, as she proceeded to scoop up all 10 tools.
We then deposited a variety of building materials left over from various projects over the past 10 years, not expecting anyone to remove any of it. We just thought we’d give it a shot anyway.
Well, well, well, it all went.
Bricks went into the trunk of a Mercedes – great ballast for winter, but this was spring! Chicken wire went into another back seat. A slab of limestone (I have no idea how this elderly woman lifted it) disappeared into another trunk. And so the process went with the construction materials over the course of an hour or so.
Finally, we were left with about 20 miscellaneous items including a dehumidifier, an old chandelier and other odds and ends.
All were quickly loaded into a van and rushed away. Never to be seen again, you think? Au contraire, they were prominently featured at another neighbour’s garage sale, a few doors down, the very next day.
Our experience has taught us two lessons. First, curbside recycling is alive and well. Second, curbside etiquette has been kicked to the curb.
Maybe the answer to all of this is to renew the age-old practice of placing unwanted items at the curb after dark. Those certainly were simpler times.
Shelagh Stoneham lives in Toronto