Last time I had a yard sale, it was a metaphorical sense of the word: I clipped an edge on a steep slope in Lake Tahoe, lost control and decorated the run with my poles and skis. This time my yard sale was premeditated and meant to clear out the garage clutter at my new place to earn some extra cash for me and my roommates.
I woke up Saturday morning and dragged the various kitchenware, bookshelves and lamps onto the curb, propped my feet up and cracked open my book while I attended the sale. It's now the start of Indian summer- the time of year when San Francisco finally gets so hot afternoons and clear, blue skies. The sun was glaring down and blinding me with the reflection off of the silverware. Beautiful summer days are rare in San Francisco, and I lamented the fact that I was cooped up along the street surrounded by unwanted home goods instead of running along Crissy Field or soaking up some rays in the back yard.
After just one hour of standing guard, and only one sale ($1 for some IKEA spoons to my landlady...) and one visitor (the pregnant woman that lives across the street that sauntered over to kill time while her husband retrieved their car), my dedication to the cause waned and I began to favor dumping the junk off at Goodwill. When two friends passed by on their way back from some morning tennis en route to watch some college football, I called it quits and pushed my collection back into the garage.
Much as I love San Francisco, had I hosted this sale in Amish Country, I could have left the items on the sidewalk with a price tag and a cash box. Many Amish and local farmers will post stands flanking the sides of road with fresh produce and a jar where buyers drop in their coins and dollar bills. Of course there are some that are dishonest, but most people abide by the system and farmers are able to sell off excess produce for some extra income. Had I left some items on the street in San Francisco, they'd surely get taken... right along with the cash box.