The neighborhood garage sale was yesterday. Mom and I made $103.50. We split it 50/50, but in the time it took us to raise that money some interesting things went down on Allen Drive.
The bearskin rug was our hot item. The sale wasn’t supposed to start until 8 am. Mom kept turning people down because it wasn’t 8 yet. Finally, at 7:30 we were being swamped by customers. One of the first customers Chris turned away was a man who was interested in the bearskin rug we had marked for twenty bucks. We told him to come back later. We didn’t promise him any bearskin rug action. So, when Chris started allowing customers to buy up the products the first one to go was the rug. A man didn’t bat an eye at the now raised price of thirty dollars. We will never know how much that rug was really worth, but I said, after the fact, we should have marked it at fifty dollars.
The saga of the bearskin wasn’t over. The original shopper that came by for the rug returned at 8 am. He said, “Where’s the rug?”
“We sold it. Sorry,” Mom said.
“So much for character,” He said as he spun around.
My mom just blew him off by saying, “Yeah”.
She continued talking with a customer but I was watching this guy’s every movement. I was so stunned that he could be so rude to someone that hadn’t done anything to him. He walked back to his car and said, “At least I don’t lie.”
My ears were pretty perked up by now and I was intent on catching every last word this jackass was going to say before he got into his car.
“What a bitch,” the man said as he slipped behind the wheel.
Immediately after that I started walking toward him and he caught my gaze which was not going to leave until I saw him out of my sight. For a few seconds he had to look down to put the key in the ignition, but he frantically glanced up to see my approaching frame. I was getting more fired up with each step.
He pulled away quickly in his crappy car, but the best car a flea market stand owner could afford. And that was exactly what he was. He came to buy cheap goods and sell them at exorbitant prices to his dishonorable, silly, flea market-going-brethren.
I pointed to the direction he should go, that way, away from this house if he didn’t want to get punished. I gave a casual middle finger to his rearview mirror. I don’t think he ever saw it, but he was the most deserving of any middle finger that I have ever doled out.
Even now, more than twelve hours later, I am disappointed that was all I did. I should have yelled at him immediately when he slimed my mother with that derogatory term. He was a lucky man yesterday. That is all I can say.
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