“You take five dollars for this?”
TODD THOMPSON
Special to the Post
The sun wasn’t even up yet, nor was I, truth be told. I had barely dragged one table from my garage onto the driveway before I already had a customer. I was not ready for this.
A stranger stood in my driveway holding a brass helicopter – my brass helicopter.
“How much?” he chirped.
As he asked, my mind raced back to my parents buying that helicopter for me on their only trip to California. It sat on my nightstand until I left for college. Then it disappeared into a dusty basement box for more than a decade, until this garage sale finally dragged it back into the light.
I really wanted to shoo him away.
Instead, I offered, “Ten dollars.”
“You take seven?” He retorted.
And that’s how my weekend of emotional haggling began.
This was my first garage sale. I promised my wife I would do this, and more importantly, that I could do this. Now, I needed to prove to her I was right.
I researched garage sales like I was preparing for trial. I got small bills from the bank, printed Venmo and PayPal QR codes, borrowed tables, and even kept an extension cord nearby to test electronics. Our “treasures” were ready for sale.
My research also told me to put the good stuff near the street, and the bigger items went in the back, so shoppers had to pass everything else first.
Of course, as a prosecutor, I worried about safety. I had my security cameras in place. I kept a small, but heavy safe hidden – no, I am not telling you where. Also, I had a small amount of cash in my front pocket. You know I have heard about far too many five-finger discounts in my life.
Even with all that preparation, I wasn’t prepared.
I thought setting up at 5 a.m. would give me time before people would come.
As you can tell, it didn’t.
Like moths to a flame, the garage door sent people to beeline towards me.
As I dragged tables out, people began to circle. No sun, no problem. People had flashlights and camera lights. I watched people pick through years of our accumulated belongings as if it were a competitive sport.
I even had some people enter my garage, looking around. “No, I am not selling my lawnmower. You’re right, it is dirty.”
Some sales were easy: my parents’ collection of ashtrays and candlesticks.
Other things were harder, like my kids’ toys. I knew they outgrew them, but everything had a memory. As each person asked for a price, I would relive them playing with it, whether it was the first throw, the first pedal, or the hours spent making fake meals.
What really surprised me the most was the people.
Everyone was kind. People wanted deals, but honestly. They told stories, asked for advice, and lingered just to talk.
The only exception was an older gentleman who scoffed at my suggested price for some toy cars.
“Are you kidding?!” He barked. “You know they are charging a quarter for this down the street?!” I politely directed him to return down the street.
People were conscientious, too. One man asked if the CD/radio/alarm clock worked. We plugged it in, and the clock started flashing and music blaring. Oddly, the song was “MMMBop,” which I don’t think I had heard in years.
It wasn’t the radio.
We found that the CD player worked. After hitting eject, a CD labeled “Todd’s Favorites” popped out. He told me to keep that, even after my insistence that he take it.
Surprisingly, many people didn’t want to haggle. People would just take the listed price. Some would ask to bundle items for a deal.
One woman wanted to bundle a tricycle and dresser for a reduced price. That was great. I wasn’t sure anyone could haul that dresser off. She told me she would take the tricycle now and her husband would come back for the dresser. She then said, “I’ll go Venmo you.”
I watched her walk towards my Venmo paper and then got distracted by another family.
After a while, I realized no one had come for the dresser. I checked my Venmo – no money. I checked my security camera and the lady did walk to my Venmo paper, but then left.
I couldn’t believe it.
After a full day of my restored faith in humans, I had let my guard down. I got scammed! The seasoned old prosecutor who thought of everything got ripped off.
I called my wife to tell her of my foolishness, already frustrated with myself, when a truck pulled up.
A giant man stepped out and walked toward me.
“My wife said we bought a dresser… is this the one?”
I braced myself for a confrontation I did not want.
“And she forgot to pay you,” he added. “I don’t do Venmo…here’s cash.”
Relief rushed over my body and my faith in humanity was immediately restored.
My work made me cynical, but I know the people I see there are only a small slice of the population.
The best thing I received from the garage sale was remembering that people really are inherently good.
As for the helicopter?
I watched my daughter watch another girl smaller than her play with her kitchen set. The other father came over and asked how much?
I told him I needed a minute.
I went to my daughter to ask if she was still okay with selling. She looked at me and said, “Dad, she needs it more than I do.” We sold it.
I sold that helicopter, too. He wanted to bundle it with an ashtray for ten dollars. I agreed.
I have always hated smoking, and the truth is, I didn’t really want the helicopter.
I just wanted to be a pilot.
Maybe he needed it more than I did.
Todd Thompson is the County Attorney for Leavenworth County, Kansas.