Saturday, September 11, 2010

Yardsales 9/11 Part One

Before you read this, you must scroll down and read Laura's post about the same day...








Did you do it? Go! Right now!







Alrighty then. Now that you fully appreciate the basics of our Albers experience, I will add a few more details.

First, it is election season in the town of Albers. And from the signs I saw today, most of the candidates for office are in the Albers family. Forget about Richie Daley retiring as Chicago's mayor. The city of Albers knows political family dynasties. I can only imagine the bribes and graft involved in getting on the yardsale map for the Albers city-wide sale.

Laura was spot-on when she said we wanted all the great garage contents that were not-for-sale. She illustrated the best way to restrict buyers from poking through your desirables - the visual barrier. The giant silver tarp was brilliant - bold, blatant, and blunt. Usually, there is just some hazy no-man's-land dividing the yardsale merchandise from the stuff the proprietor still treasures. We wander from sales floor to stock room without knowing it. In fact, all the BEST stuff was behind the invisible-iron-curtain-of-retention. But seriously... when we ask, "How much for this old metal stool?" and you reply, "Oh, that's not for sale." the first thing I think is, "Really? What if I offered you a million dollars? THEN would it be for sale?"

Everything has a price, Readers. The contents of your garage, while precious to you, do indeed have street value. The beauty of the yardsale phenomenon is that through our early-morning-coffee-drinking-map-following-bargain-hunting adventures we are all searching for that fulcrum where supply and demand hang in the balance. If it is junk to you and treasure to me, the deal is an easy exchange. But what if we both desire the object before us? How much cash, cold and hard, does it take for you to part with your cherished material possessions?

Take the fest table, for example.

The fest table is an artifact from Germany Oktoberfests. Quite a few military men apparently buy these tables when stationed in Germany and haul them back to the states as a trophy of sorts. (Like a rug from Afghanistan or a tonsu from Japan. Don't get me started.) The fest table is like an American card table, foldable and easily stored, with multiple practical uses. It is a long and thin wooden table with collapsable metal legs and two long, thing benches completing the set. Imagine gallons of ale, dozens of pewter beer steins, and a flock of St. Pauli Girls. Now fill in the blanks spots with this table and its benches.

Laura will have to post pictures of her new fest table. What I want you to understand is that when we first saw these items they were NFS. They were prized possession of our new friend (and Albers resident) Mack, fulfilling one of their many potential uses as yardsale display tables. Here is how the conversation went:

Laura: How much for these excellent benches?

Mack: Oh. They are not for sale.

Laura: But they are so excellent.

Nancy, from the sidelines: everything has a price.

Laura: I want them... But wait! Look at this table! It matches!

Mack: Yes. It is a set. It's a fest table.

It went on like this for a little while. I will let Laura explain the details of the negotiation, the decision making, and the ultimate transportation of the fest table and its benches. Suffice it to say, I believe she is now the owner of a fest table set. The question? If I offer her a million dollars, will she sell it to me?



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