Yard Sale Aficionado

I have a good friend who is a yard sale aficionado.  My online dictionary defines aficionado as a person who is very knowledgeable and enthusiastic about an activity.   I have discovered that there are hundreds, perhaps thousands,  of yard sale aficionados in the world and they all reside in south Florida.

My friend B has a yard sale buddy who has been MIA for several months.   In a stroke of genius I offered to ride along one Saturday as a sub.  You know, just to keep her company.  I had a good time, snagged a book for 50 cents and a phenomenal $6 rubber boat for the pool.  At the end of the day I made myself available to ride shot gun on future forays into the the underbelly of used and previously owned junk, stuff, treasure.

When the call came on Thursday evening that Saturday looked to be promising, it took less than a second to jump on board the train.  Not only were there a half dozen or so yard sales on the island, but the Catholic church was having their annual rummage sale. Who in their right mind could pass that up?  I've always heard that the Catholics have great junk.  What I wasn't prepared for was the heaving mass of of senior citizens lined up around the block to gain admittance to the church.  (Apparently I wasn't the only one who knew that the Catholics have good junk.)  B looked at me sheepishly and offered to move on and return later when the crowd had thinned.  And miss the good stuff?  No way.  We stayed.

It didn't take long to make our way into the inner sanctum where we were witness to the heaving mass of seniors now jockeying for position.  Those octogenarians can get nasty when there is a chipped candle holder at stake.

I headed for the book table.  If only I could get close.  People were lined up 8 deep.  I couldn't get near it.  Heck, I couldn't even see it.  I needed a plan.  I was younger and more fit; I could muscle my way through the crowd.  Or so I thought.  There must be a yard sale university somewhere that teaches the elderly how to knock out the competition.  I watched and I learned.   I formulated a plan.  I stooped to their level.   (I hope the little man with the cane doesn't bruise too badly.)  Once belly to books at the table I had to move quickly.  Hands were flying and books were disappearing faster than discount coupons at Publix.  This was not the public library.  There was no time for leisurely browsing.  I saw a John Grissom novel I hadn't read, grabbed it, paid my dollar and emerged from the throng victorious.  It was time for a donut.

All in all it was a good morning.  In addition to my book (fist pump), I scored a Tommy Bahama shirt for The Kid, two wine glasses, and a top for me.  



I wonder where we're going next week?

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