One more Garage Sale Story, this one not nearly as endearing, and then I promise to put them on hiatus.
Saturday--the final day of the sale and traditionally Not A Big Day, either money-wise or crowd-wise--was making us a bit crabby. The weather had been gloomy and threatening rain, and we spent the whole first hour without a single person (or car!) anywhere near the sales on our street. My brother, a compulsive record-keeper, consulted The Notebook, which told us that last year's Saturday had sucked bigtime as well.
At that moment, a woman in her late sixties with a shellacked coif and a rather prissy air about her approached the cashier table. In her arms she carried two scarf and hat sets, a hooded quilted faux down vest, and a black knit stocking cap. She set them down and...
Nance: Hi. Let's see what you've got there.
Woman: (in a petulant, Sarah Palinesque voice) Well, before you start, this vest has a spot on it.
Nance: Really? Where? It's brand new. See? The tag is still on it.
Bob: Yeah. My daughter put that in this sale, and I know for a fact that she never even wore it.
Woman: Right there. See? (points to a fading water spot)
Bob: That looks like a water spot. Anyway, that's a thirty-dollar vest, and you're getting it for three dollars.
Woman: Well, and this knit hat here. It's all stretched out already.
Nance: That is also brand new. See how it's attached to the scarf by the plastic tab? Besides, it's not a stocking cap. (turns it inside out) See here? See the lining? It's not made to stretch like a regular knit hat. That's the style.
And I did not offer her a bag.