Your Yard Sale is not an Antique Store.

I'll come clean and openly admit I enjoy going to garage sales, yard sales, tag sales or whatever "browse-through-my-unwanted-junk" type of sale I happen upon. I'm always on the lookout for some vinyl records, interesting old knick-knacks and, particularly, retro video games from the 90's or older. Sometimes I find cool things. Just today I paid four dollars (talked down from seven) for an unused copy of Elephun. Why would I buy a game for children? It's an elephant that sneezes butterflies. Why don't I have a room full of them.

Those butterflies look delighted to have partied in an elephant's trunk. 

Besides that and the lifesize Justin Bieber cardboard cutout I bought to 'brighten' a coworker's office - most likely against his will, the pickings were fairly slim today. And it bummed me out, because the one sale with the most promising stuff was run by a woman who grossly overestimated the demand and value for her wares. Far be it from me to question your motives for holding a garage sale, but if it's to make pure profit, you're a delusional ass. No one pays retail at a garage sale.

The first sign of trouble was when I walked up to the place. On the hot lawn, void of any sort of shade, were piles of poorly stacked vinyl records. Not some throwaway collections of elevator music or church hymns, but actual popular music by The Eagles, Billy Joel, Elvis Presley, The Beatles (!!), and Stevie Wonder (even better: it was his masterpiece, Songs in the Key of Life.) I gave a perfunctory glance at them but figured I'd look around first to see what else she was offering.

I made my way over to tables full of bric-a-brac. I overhead the homeowner trying to sell some figurine by quoting inflated eBay asking prices. "Then why are you wasting a Saturday trying to peddle it on your stoop rather than just putting it on eBay?", I thought to myself. Whatever. On the table I saw some sealed copies of old Trivial Pursuit expansion sets from the 80's ("Baby Boomer's Edition" and "R.P.M. Edition" to be exact.) I thought they'd be interesting to have, even if not entirely useful in actual play (they're 30 years old for starters.) I looked at the price tag. Fifteen dollars! Maybe somebody's willing to pay that price for vintage (outdated) Trivial Pursuit cards. But based on her precious eBay stats - where ALL completed auctions for the same items went unsold - those people are clearly not allowed out in public or near any computers.

Unloved for any price. 

After seeing more random junk marked with three-figure price tags being gawked at by people wearing one-figure priced shoes, I decided this sale was too needlessly rich for my blood. I just went straight towards the pile of records doomed under the intense sunlight figuring the owner has no concern for them and, thus, will let them go for next-to-nothing. I came across some solid titles, but it was an unintentionally kooky seven inch single from 1979 that caught my eye. It contained the full-length version of the theme song to a short-lived TV show of the same name. That show is best described as Saturday Night Fever in sitcom form. Yes, I'm talking about "Makin' It" by David Naughton. Here's the song accompanied by his old head shot in case you need to know exactly the ridiculousness I was trying to purchase:

Not very good and horribly dated. It was clearly an ironic purchase, worth a buck or two as a laugh. I'd listen to it once, file it away and come across it occasionally to play as a reminder of the late 70's less-memorable musical contributions. So I brought it to the lady to get a price. The woman took one look and, with a straight face, quoted me five dollars. "Really?!", I blurted out in genuine shock, "For David 'I'm-a-Pepper-You're-a-Pepper' Naughton?!"  "Yes", she explained, unaware of how ludicrous a mental patient she sounded to me, "the 45's are five each and the albums are ten each." Okay, maybe some selections in that pile may justify that price but not some forgotten Disco single in a generic sleeve sung by the star of An American Werewolf in London. And when I do pay that price, it's given to the proprietor of an actual record store where they don't tend to leave merchandise stacked on the dirty grass under the unforgiving sun.

I didn't even try to haggle as she was clearly delusional and it would be a waste of precious breath. I politely declined. Before leaving, though, I did suggest she move the records somewhere in the shade to avoid warping her lot of 'retirement vinyl'. As if I didn't know what I was talking about, she blurted out, "well they lasted 45 years!" Sigh. Those poor records. Ruined by an idiot.

Oh well, at least I have the "Office Bieber" to look forward to on Monday morning.

Cheaper and more effective than hiring someone to protect that office equipment.