Garbage Sale

WARNING: This post is rated "M" for Mature audiences only. It contains strong language, derogatory and sometimes prejudice statements about those who live or have lived in a small town, and brutally honest opinions on what most refer to as "another planet", also known as: Hartford, Wisconsin.

This weekend, I took part in the Hartford City wide rummage sale. Oh yes. I said it. I was "brave" (STUPID) enough to take on all that comes with preparing for and executing a "rummage sale". First, let me say this; I truly believe that rummage sales across the world (primarily in small towns where the cohabitants of that town were born there, raised there, have never left and do not feel the need to ever leave for fear that if they do they will undoubtedly be consumed by a dragon or simply fall off the face of the earth - because it's flat) would be far more successful if the term "rummage" was replaced by the word "garbage".

Let me tell you, the audience we had at 1580 Foxtail Drive - street address has nothing to do with it... if you fall into the 53027 zip code, you got the best of the best, wife beater wearing, marb red smokin', jail tattooed, inbred, linguistically challenged, cheap skates - wanted nothing to do with some of the top notch items we (we being my sister and I, bless her heart) were selling. Ohhhhh no! They wanted nothing but GARBAGE. In fact, I believe at one point I saw one of my patrons take the lid off of one of our large garbage cans in the garage and pull out two bags o' crap. He was happy as pie and sauntered off into the hot June day and said, "That's it! I've got all I need!"

What boggled our minds the most was that the items we were selling - never used fondue sets, pier 1 dishes, swarovski crystal ornaments, baby clothes up the wazoo, antique rocking chair, good as new dresser, never used cosmetics from every major cosmetics line you can name, were items that I would do back flips over had I ever come across such sweet gear at such a steal. Not the case in good ol' ho dunk Hartford. In fact, if anything had a price of $1 or over, it was not wanted. Noses were scrunched, sighs were exaggerated, F bombs were dropped over the ungodly irrational prices we were advertising. My rationale for this is as follows:
- Hartford hillbillies do not know what Pier 1 is. For all they know Pier 1 is a pier at Pike Lake available to all Hartford and Slinger residents for fishing and lounging. It's called Pier 1 because you're only allowed to keep 1 fish that you catch.
- Harford inbreds do not know what Swarovski Crystal is... for all they know (or care) Swarovski is the new swastika (however, if that were the case, I'm sure they'd snatch the ornaments right up and hang them from the rear view mirrors of their souped up Ford's with "Get 'r done" stickers streaming across the back window, screaming, "Check out dis hear swastika I picked up at dat rummage sale over dare! Dare's one left... ya outta head over dare and getyer self one")!

To top off this fun filled, glorious day, most of which was spent looking at our clocks begging the good lord above to make the day be over, was that at the end of the day after we'd realized we'd barely made a profit, the real looters came out of the woodwork. Toothless wonders, families of 10 or more crammed into what may as well have been card board boxes on crutches with wheels. They crept down the street, slow as molasses, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. What were they waiting for? Lindsey and I thought they could only be waiting for one thing. A warm smile and an invite. Right?? So we smiled (as painful as it was), waived them in and told them all that everything was 1/2 off. The stares we got back were the same stares that O.J. Simpson got as he was leaving the courthouse after receiving his not guilty verdict. How dare we offer ONLY 1/2 price??? It was 4:30 p.m.!! Rummage sales end at 5:00!! We were sinners, atheists, wastes of humanity for NOT putting everything at the end of our driveway for free. When the others in our neighborhood started yelling, "Everything is free," it was like someone had cut the gates open at the zoo. Monkeys flying everywhere. Pictures of Jesus and Elvis in velvet, flower pots with dead flowers in them, rocks, used Kleenex, you name it. It was all gone within seconds.

Not our stuff. Our stuff went untouched... until the tornado hit. No seriously. A tornado hit. Sirens started blaring, people starting running and Lindsey and I were pitching items into the garage like we were trying out for "A League of Their Own, Part 2". We managed to escape the funnel cloud and ended the night in our basement, laughing at the unbelievable day we'd had and drinking Honey Bears.

God Bless America. And while you're at it... could you drop an A-bomb on good ol Hartford, WI???