The Yard Sale

Some people are born to thrive in a yard sale environment, and some are not. My partner, Beth, is not. That’s why the “laws of the universe” allow her to have only one yard sale per century… and that was this weekend.

Why are you having a yard sale, you ask?

Last year Beth’s father passed away and her mother needed to be transferred to an assisted-living facility, so the attached apartment they both lived in for 7 years became empty. Needless to say, Beth had a lot of “stuff” from the apartment that she needed to find new homes for.

How did it turn out? Overall, it was a success, but it was a 2-day sale, and it was exhausting.

There was so much merchandise that Beth had to hire folks to come by every day the week before the sale and help take stuff out of the apartment, down from the loft in the barn, and arrange it for the sale. Beth and her minions worked HARD.

One thing we didn’t count on is how resourceful folks are about straying outside the “boundaries” of the stuff that was for sale. Things were pretty well delineated… on the lawn, inside the barn, and inside Beth’s small art studio cabin….or so we thought. It was not easy to stray from the “assigned” area, but they did. 

Every now and then you’d here a voice from the dark corner of the barn… “There’s no tag on these tires”… “That’s because they aren’t for sale”. At times it was like trying to herd a hundred kittens, all mewing loudly, searching for a hidden stash of catnip that they are SURE is hidden somewhere on the property. Maybe if we had used some razor wire… LOL

The biggest fear never came true – the early birds. Everyone kept telling Beth… be ready for the folks who come several hours early. They will have all sorts of excuses like… they are shipping out to Iraq later that morning… they have a wedding / funeral / bar mitzvah to go to, etc. The best excuse happened to a friend of Beth’s. At her yard sale a lady showed up at the door at 6:00 am for a 9:00 am start, and said, “I’m on my way to Portland for a surgical procedure.” The hostess said, “Have a safe trip”, and closed the door.

I’m working on a permanent cure for the “early birds” at a yard sale. They have robots nowadays that vacuum your carpets, and mow your lawn. I’m building a robot pit bull. 

It will have a bear trap for teeth. Inside will be a timer so that when the yard sale begins, it will stop working and go to sleep. It will also have a GPS device so you can program in the dimensions of your yard. Anyone who shows up before the allotted time, will be attacked by the robo-pit bull. 

I’m thinking of adding a voice sensor, so if it detects someone uttering a fabrication like, “Oh, I didn’t know it hadn’t started yet”, it will unleash a flamethrower at their legs. Then you will be able to actually see…. a liar with their pants on fire.

When my patent is approved, I’ll start working on the franchise agreement.

How To Be A Mainer

Every summer I conduct a class for tourists entitled, “How To Be A Mainer”. It’s a short class, and I conduct it in a variety of places – the local coffee shop, down at the local park overlooking the ocean, just about anywhere I encounter the nice people taking a vacation in Maine.

Last weekend, I held the class in the Concord Coach bus coming up the coast from Portland. I had gone to Portland to watch a minor league baseball game, and met the nicest folks on the trip back home… but they sure needed to know how to be a Mainer, and I was delighted to oblige them. They all “oohed” and ”aahed” in the right places, and laughed heartily at all my jokes, so they each received a passing grade.

It started when a middle aged gentleman from Kentucky asked if the waiting line we were in was for the bus to Damariscotta. I assured him it was, but informed him he was mispronouncing the name. I explained to him that it was really a simple name to say…. put all the emphasis on the first syllable, drop the second “a”, and you have it – DAM-ris-cotta. He thanked me, and asked, why do they have that extra “a” in the town name?

I looked him straight in the eye, and with a serious face, told him, “Well, life can be tough in Maine, so if that first letter “a” dies off ,by freezing to death, or by being eaten by a bear, then there’s another “a” right there to take over.” There was a moment of silence, and his face seemed to be saying what his mind was thinking – boy, these Maine people really ARE a little weird.

A lot of the class is just answering questions, and this year we have a new category of questions… How can I get to see some Down East dickering?

Now, if you watch the History Channel (Wed – 10:00pm), you know that “Down East Dickering” is their newest and best rated show. It’s a show about Maine bargain hunters (with heavy Maine accents, of course) who buy, sell, and swap stuff, using a local publication called “Uncle Henry’s”. “Uncle Henry’s” is a weekly publication that is really a state-wide collection of “folksy” classified ads.

I told them that all Mainers don’t talk like the guys on “Down East Dickering”, and even though not all Mainers are into dickering, you don’t have to go far to find some. I suggested they hang out at a convenience store, or a coffee shop, and keep their ears open. It shouldn’t take long before someone swaps a sturdy, wooden extension ladder for a days’ worth of labor, cleaning out an old barn… stuff like that.

They were so excited about the possibility of hearing some real dickering, I didn’t have to heart to tell them that “Down East” in Maine is not the entire state, but only Hancock and Washington Counties. I also didn’t tell them that the TV dickerers… Nate, Codfish, Turtle, Mitch, and the gang… don’t come from anywhere near Hancock or Washington counties. It would have broken their hearts if they knew that Yummy (another cast member) actually lives in Vermont.

The most fun came when someone asked me if the bus still made a stop at the Maine State Prison in Thomaston. I told them it did not, since the prison has been torn down and was moved to Warren, ME about 12 years ago. “Oh my”, the traveler from Sun Valley, Idaho replied, “I guess I’d forgotten how long it’s been since I’ve visited Maine.”

Instantly, another passenger asked, “Oh, I have a friend who lives in Warren. How far is that from Thomaston?” It’s about 4 “fers”, I told him. In unison, they all inquired, “What’s a “fer”? “Well”, I said, “It’s a form of distance measurement that’s sorta unique to Maine. First, you go to Thomaston. Then, you face to the west. Now, go as “fer” as you can see. Do that 4 times and you’re in Warren.” They LOVED it.

So, the classes are open to anyone. If you want to join us, my next class will be on July 14^th, when I travel to Portland for another minor league baseball game. If you want to join us, just be at the Concord Coach Bus Terminal at 7:00pm, and off we’ll go.

By the way, if you do come along, and want to assure yourself of a good grade, bring an apple for the teacher. I LOVE apples!