We pass laws against too many things in this country. I think that if you want to ride your bicycle without a helmet with your girlfriend (or boyfriend) sitting on the handle bars in front of you, you ought to be allowed. I think having to have jay walking laws for pedestrians is just pandering to the stupid. As long as you're prepared to die, I think skiing out of bounds is okay. I think noise level laws, and auto pollution sanctions are just excuses not to talk to each other. (Some of my libertarian friends think I should toss in marijuana here.) We spend all this time legally fretting over the obvious, and then we pass no laws, publish no regulations, threaten no fines, do NOTHING to curtail the neighborhood wide garage sale. For Shame.
Some one of you will bellow, "hey, it's free enterprise. It's the American way." I'll counter that with, "No Way Jose!" But I'm not going to stop at "just cuz."
I'm not against garage sales per se. But I like the ones you're directed to by some barely legible advertising, on a bent piece of cardboard, taped to a stop sign. That's where I'm going to find an old typewriter (a manual machine that allows you to put words on paper), a sasparilla bottle (like a coke can) or a Jimmy Foxx baseball card ( a guy who played baseball before the first Barry Bonds). In one of these group jobs those items might be ruled out for being too old. I have a long list of objections to these frenzied mass garage sales, but I'm going to limit myself to three issues.
Who are the guys who run these things? Who wants this stuff? Why do we invite these people into our neighborhood? I don't know about your garage sale extravaganza, but our's is always run by a realtor. How do I know that? That's because he, for some reason, is allowed to put about two million of his three color, hard plastic, three "D", reflective, 12 by 18 inch signs, attached to metal stakes, on every inch of easment in the development. We'd put campaigning politicians in jail for that. Yeah, it does say something on the signs about a community wide garage sale. But see if you can pass this test. "What words do you suppose stand tallest and boldest on these signs? Did you say the realtor's name, class? That's very good. Okay, now what words do you think stand second tallest? His realty company's name did you say? My you are the bright ones."
Does it seem odd that these events tend to take place right about the time people tend to shop for homes? I heard somebody say, "wow, those signs must have cost him a fortune." Well, those signs probably made him a fortune, and he and his tax accountant will spend the rest of the year just laughing, and laughing, and laughing. I hope somebody on the committee that approves the event gets a discount point on his realtor's fee?
I know what you're saying, and you're right. It's free enterprise. But he or she is the only entrepeneur. Anyone actually operating out of their own garage is at best working a franchise, playing by the company rules, handing imagination, creativity, and salesmanship over to the man whose name is on the sign. I hang on to hope that's not the American way.
So, anyway, you go cruising around the neighborhood looking for that special unique item that says it's you. You park, you walk up to the garage door and see this pink lamp you just saw at your neighbor's house last month. You coveted it. You were sure it was one of a kind, and you'd never get a shot at owning one like it. But right in front of you is the exact same lamp. "There must be two of them. I'm not even going to bargain. I have to have it."
Heard after you leave, "I didn't think we'd ever get rid of that thing. Is there anyone around here who doesn't have one?" From garage to garage the very same items keep popping up. Even the clothes with the labels from the closest department store are identical. I fear that someone having a baby may buy back the crib they sold when their elder child outgrew it, and buy it back for a dollar more. I guess my point on this issue is these mass neighorhood sales are not where you're going to get the good stuff. You'd do better at a flea market.
My last point is really the inspiration for going off on this diatribe. I'm coming home from doing a narration job, still babbling to myself about the script, when it dawns on me I've driven into the middle of a "destruction derby" auto race in slow motion. The car in front of me has a tandem crew. Instead of helmets they are wearing these tall hairdos cemented in place with hair spray. They are not looking at the road, they are looking at all the garage sales. Well some times there are looking at each other. Their lips are moving constantly, talking strategy no doubt. The car, a buick I think, (sorry Tiger) just drifts from one colorful driveway to another, following no predictable path. On a number of occasions I attempted to pass them, but they thought they were doing bumper cars, or, as I said, "destruction derby." I honked once, but they had clearly turned their hearing aids down. They just kept pulling in front of me. More than once they narrowly missed hitting neighborhood children cycling around the block with helmets on.
It's clear this "destruction derby" crew wasn't from the neighborhood, or they wouldn't have filled up their back seat with pink lamps. And their kind, with compulsive mass garage sale addictions, are growing in number. They are coming from as far as four or five developments away. And one of these days one of them is going to accidentally step on the gas and it won't make any difference if your girlfriend (or boyfriend) on the handle bars is wearing a helmet.
Let's lobby our lawmakers. Let's get these things outlawed. Let's get back to cardboard. Pink lamps are out.
All that said, my wife reminds me that I'm always urging her to have a garage sale and get rid of all the junk. And don't look too deeply into the fact that I seem to know a lot about these neighborhood wide garage sales.
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