By Paul Fersen
Awhile back Mimi and I had a tag sale, not that that's any big deal, but I learned a few things about human nature. In fact I learned a lot about human nature. I also learned a lot about the American condition, particularly when it comes to consumerism. You would think that the recent economic turbulence would have dampened some of that, but in fact capitalism is alive and well, simply redefined.
Two years ago, the race was to see who could spend the most, be it house, car, boat or designer jacket. Now it's who can get the best deal, be it house, car, boat or designer jacket, or anything else for that matter, right down to an old saltshaker in a tag sale. The low ball is the mantra of the post-apocalyptic economic meltdown. I hate the low ball. Arguing over a dollar or two seems to be a thrill factor for some who can then revel in the fact that they somehow outsmarted the seller and walked away with a great deal. Initiating the "low ball" is the first step in the "haggle", which drives me even crazier. Negotiating an amount that won't cover an ice cream cone for something that's essentially worthless is to me, the consummate waste of time.
So Mimi created the ultimate tag sale to avoid the "low ball" and the "haggle". First off we didn't call it a tag sale, we called it a "moving" sale. Eventually we will move. This immediately implies there will be more than just the run of the mill stuff. The perception is that we are somehow the Joad family in our last desperate straits gathering cash for a move to the Promised Land. The truth is we were in fact heading for the Promised Land-the promised land of freedom from owning so much stuff.
There were two keys to success; understanding the end goal (getting rid of junk), and pricing. First of all, you need to understand that most of your stuff is worth nothing. Accept it. Putting $5 on 8-track tapes because you can't find them anymore and are collector's items is the height of delusion. It's an invitation to the haggle. There are 300 million people in this country and one of them collects 8-track tapes. He is not coming to your tag sale.
Mimi came up with the ultimate pricing technique that worked magnificently. Everything in the sale, unless marked, was a buck. One dollar. Nobody haggles over a dollar. Nobody likes loose change. It was genius! Those few things that were marked, we calculated what we thought they were worth and then cut it in half. What we think matters not. A buck is easy to part with, no matter what.
The moving sale was to be on Saturday from 9am to 1pm. The News Guide came out in the middle of the week and the phone rang immediately.
"I can't make it this weekend, can I come over right now and take a look."
Sure I thought, why not? I just want the stuff gone. He left with a truck full. On Saturday morning, he was back in the yard. Obviously he uses the old "I can't come Saturday" ploy to get a jump on the others who by the way showed up in droves at 7:30 in the morning. He came, he bought, he conquered. By the stated start time of the sale, most of the stuff was already gone. In actuality he did me a great favor as I went back to the well and found more stuff I didn't really need to replace what he bought early.
What I discovered is, he was the point of the spear of a vast underground of retirees who now make their livings on Ebay. They flock to these sales, scarf up anything that looks saleable and then go home and sell it all on Ebay. At 7:30 it looked like a bus tour had just dropped its load in my driveway. At first I marveled at this, wondering why all these old folks wanted more stuff while we were desperately trying to rid ourselves of it. After a few brief conversations I discovered Ebay has changed the face of the American barter system and created a golden age retirement industry. These people were not looking for a specific treasure, they were grabbing stuff by the armload and shoving dollars in my hand as fast as they could.
One woman came in and picked up a stuffed animal. I asked her if she had children.
"No." She then picked up a dog collar. I asked her if she had a dog.
"No." I then asked her if there was anything in particular she was looking for.
"No." By that time her arms were filling and I got her a bag to which she responded, "Tell me when I've got twenty things. Here's a twenty."
I carried the bag of junk to her car for her and when she opened the trunk it nearly blew off its hinges. I had to cram this bag in there and then jump on the trunk to close it. Price it at a buck and they will come. By the time it was over we had made a fair amount of money, but more importantly we had rid ourselves of tons of stuff that we would have had to pay Waste Management to take.
The simple realization that all this stuff was worthless proved to be the ultimate factor in selling it. After taking out the money for the few big-ticket items, we discovered we had sold in excess of 500 things for a buck. Those things worth more than a buck were more than covered by those things worth nothing that sold for a buck; 500 closet clogging, basement blocking, hallway hindering, kitchen cluttering possessions that we will never miss. Our house suddenly looks like an interior designer did a before-and-after, mainly because all that's left are the few nice things we own and we can actually see them.
There was one redeeming moment though, when I realized that while all of this stuff was worthless to us now, that had not always been the case. In the middle of the feeding frenzy, a young couple walked in carrying two small children. They left with one thing; a set of oversized blocks that our children loved. Mimi had safely stored them for two decades. For a brief moment I saw us some 20 years ago, remembering the hours Nick and Elizabeth spent with them. If history repeats, it will be a buck well spent.◊
Paul Fersen is a regular columnist for Stratton Magazine.
