The garage sale: an old-fashioned social network?

I was so deep in thought---reading a book about evil and the justice of God, that when my cell phone rang, I flinched. It was my wife, Lori: “I thought this weekend would be a great time for a garage sale,” she informed me.

It wasn’t the news I wanted to hear.

“Why?” I pleaded, glancing at the book about evil and the justice of God, trying to resist the temptation of associating the first word of the book with garage sales.

Thousands of people love garage sales; they thrive on them--- anticipating the weekend thrill of making a profit or finding a bargain---browsing here, looking there, returning home with trophies of something for next-to-nothing.

I am not among the garage sale devotees: I dread them; I dodge them; I deny their existence.

Lori is by no means a garage sale enthusiast, either. But she is not as staunch an opponent of the trade as I am. So, whenever we pass a garage sale, and Lori is tempted to stop, I pretend not to hear. “What? What? Oh, I’m so sorry; I couldn’t quite make out what you said. You… (Here it helps to pause), you don’t want to turn around now do you?’

Sometimes it works; usually, I find a place to turn around.

Now, her reason for the garage sale: “Next weekend is that ‘Million Mile Garage Sale’ (she meant the annual “400 Miles of Antiques, Collectibles and Stuff,” sale, which includes our city), and remember, the last time we had a garage sale, it wasn’t a good time because we had it during the ‘Million Mile’ thing, and no one wanted to come all the way down our street, since there was so much to shop for on the highway.”

She was right. Only the lost or the true garage sale professionals took the time to leave the abundance of stuff on the highway to drive down our road. The lost found their way out; the pros turned up their noses at our paltry sale. It wasn’t a good day.

“But don’t you remember that day?” I protested. “We vowed never to do it again.”

“Yes, but we need to get rid of some things, and we could use the money,” she rejoined.

She was right on both counts.

And so the deed was done; the date was set; no more reading about evil and the justice of God: a garage sale was coming my way.

An elderly saint of a man was once asked what his favorite verse of Scripture was. “And it came to pass,” he responded. Some life experiences are of the “and it came to pass,” category.

Garage sale day is one of them.

But in between the jolt of people arriving thirty minutes before we opened at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday and the last customer leaving as we were boxing up everything that didn’t sell, more than just a little good came my way. There was the excitement I saw in the eyes of that young engaged couple looking for furniture, the elation in the voice of the single girl finding the perfect couch for her first apartment, and the satisfaction in the demeanor of the lady purchasing a bedroom suit she liked and could afford.

And, how relieved we were to get rid of that porch swing which no longer had a swing, the flower arrangements that no longer fit our interior décor, and the antique piece that never did suit Lori’s taste.

But the best part of garage sale day was reconnecting with people. “I haven’t seen you in months. How are the kids? Remember how we used to get together…”

“Oh, yeah, those were good days, and what are you doing now?”

And so it went through the day: it was a garage sale reunion---a place where people reconnect, an old-fashioned kind of social network.

And sooner than I thought possible, it came to pass.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Lori and I looked out at the back patio, now clear of the porch swing that didn’t have a swing. “You know,” she said, “I was thinking about looking for some patio furniture, and that million mile thing is this weekend…”

“What? What was that? I am having trouble hearing,” my voice trailed away from her as I hustled to the garden.

You can contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website at davidbwhitlock.com