OH, EXCUSE ME — yard sale. That’s what they’re called around here. I love the regional differences in nomenclature. In Brooklyn, they’re stoop sales or sidewalk sales. In the suburbs, they’re garage sales. Here, they’re barn sales or, more commonly, yard sales. Mine is actually going to be a basement sale.
Last night at 5:30PM, I had a sudden impulse to call the East Hampton Star and ask when their classified deadline was. “Five o’clock Monday,” the woman said. “Oh, I’ve missed it then,” I said, feeling relieved. “No,” she said, “I’ll take the ad.” Damn. So now I’m having a sale this coming Saturday, July 25, from 9AM-1PM.
Here’s what the ad says:
“SPRINGS – Basement clear-out. Old stuff. Sat 9-1.”
I’ll be selling (for pennies) the leftover detritus of the previous homeowners. Really, it’s just a way to get some help clearing out the basement.
I’ve tossed most of it, kept a few things (dishes mostly), and what remains — old fishing rods, a man’s racing bike, some framed pictures, boating equipment I don’t recognize, two rattan swivel chairs in not-great shape, some interesting glass lampshades, and whatever else I can dig up between now and Saturday — will go outside, weather permitting, or stay right where it is, in the basement, if it rains.
I’ve never been much of a salesperson. My instinct is to say, “You don’t have to buy anything, really you don’t.” And I stand by that. But you’re welcome to show up, if you’re in the vicinity, just to say hello.