The Garage is a Smokin’!
I guess we have Henry Ford to not only thank for the invention of the automobile, but for that American institution known as the garage sale. And as I sit at the edge of my garage watching the pouring rain, I know that today will not be the good day I had yesterday.
My son needs new skates for the upcoming high school hockey season and if you know anything at all about ice hockey equipment, it ain’t cheep. I thought what a better way to raise some cash than to unload his old baseball and hockey gear that’s been accumulated over the past few years. Plus there’s all kinds of stuff laying around in the basement that I wouldn’t mind unloading, so a garage sale it is for this opening weekend of professional football.
Saturday was the first day of the sale and it was 70 degrees with a bright blue sky – a day made for this kind of adventure. The night before, I spent over five hours hauling stuff from the basement into the garage, wiping it down, setting it up on tables and applying little price stickers to each item. Generally this is a terribly mundane task, but with the radio blasting some rock and roll, a few ice cold Stellas, and several medium to full bodied tobacco sticks to smoke, I was ready to earn some big cash.
The big event started at 9am, but of course the dealers and the garage sale junkies showed up by 8am looking to make an early score.
“Any furniture, computers, or video games?” asked the toothless old codger as I was pulling my folding tables out into the driveway. And even though I didn’t have any of this kind of stuff, his eyes went directly to a few loose cigars I had on the table as he asked me, “how much?” Originally I had no intention to sell any of my stogies but a quick $15 sale made me run back in the house to grab some inexpensive sticks and see what would happen. When 9am rolled around I had already sold a bunch of stoags to a few elderly gents and then lit up a nice Siglo VI to accompany my behemoth jug o’ java.
Holding a garage sale is a strange event as it pulls a lot of the bizarre creatures of humanity to your front door – people who will look at a worthless pile of crap marked fifty cents, then chew you down to a quarter just to feel good about their stellar negotiating skills. And the funny thing is that the stuff you swear won’t sell – well, that junk moves quick, while all of this high -grade sports equipment (that I have marked five cents on the dollar) just sits all the live-long day.
One funny moment came when this redneck broad decked out in Dallas Cowboys attire held up my kid’s Michael Strahan Giant’s jersey and asked if she could burn it. I quickly replied in all of my smart-assness, “Be my guest, maam, it’ll only cost you ten bucks. My fire pit is around back.”
While it wasn’t nearly as busy as I expected, it was a peaceful day as I puffed on my premium puros and moved some junk. Well, it was peaceful until around 11am when this crotchety sour old bag with a shit-eating attitude told me that she wouldn’t buy from me as long as i had a cigar lit. And even much more to my surprise, a dude who was around 40ish looked at the old sow and said, “Hey lady, this is the guy’s property and if he wants to enjoy a cigar, who the hell are you to give him any grief.”
Wow, somebody sticking up for a smoker? This was a new one for me as just two weeks prior I dealt with the psycho bitch from Hades at my neighbor’s Labor Day barbecue. So I just looked at the wincing elderly hag and politely offered her up a JR Ashton Double Magnum Alternative. Although silent, she gave me the look that clearly says “go screw yourself” and then walked away. And wouldn’t you know that the dude who came to my rescue laughed out loud and said, “Hey, I’ll take a few of those!” Way cool, I thought, as me and my new-found buddy lit up and yakked for half an hour. And to make things even better he left with my son’s used kids set of golf clubs and a few hockey jerseys to boot.
So Saturday wasn’t a bad day, but Sunday is a complete wash out as the rain pours down and the temperature is a chilly 60 degrees. Now I’ve got to put all of this stuff back before the football game starts! At least I enjoyed a few laughs and a boatload of tasty cigars. And of course, the only thing I’m left to ask is: Anybody need a used cheap pair of size 8 CCM Pro Tacks?
Later all,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS BLOG with the Zman
