THE ECONOMY!!!!!! Before any of you scream, “Oh no!!! NOT another one of those political rants disguised as humor!” I’m happy to say this has nothing to do with politics or the sub-human species that practice them.
The Geezer and I agreed, soon after we started this blog, to stay away from heavy-duty politi-comment. Our jottings are primarily devoted to reading enjoyment, writing, humor, books, publishing, and of course, dogs. Well, actually animals. The Geezer is one opinionated old fogey, but he’s wise enough to have a separate blog to express his thoughts for those looking for such, dare I say it, manure.
To be honest, we did a little when we started the blog, but quickly abandoned the practice after READING some of the tripe, left and right, masquerading as humor. I have a visual of the people producing this *#@&!. They all have very long, very thin faces so their minds will fit in the very narrow space. The Geezer and I decided that’s fine in a political, liberal, conservative, etc.,etc., tagged blog, but not as an imposition on readers who just want to laugh. So…onward!
Several days ago the Geezer decided that he’d sell the stuff he was clearing out from under the house. The cleaning was a bi-product of one of the Geezer’s New Year’s Resolutions I wrote about, remember? Anyway, when he told me his plan, I asked, “How you gonna do that?”
“I’m going to hold a garage sale,” he said.
“A what??” Our garage is under our house, I couldn’t figure…
“You know, a yard sale!” The Geezer squinted at me. He looked perplexed, like I should know how he could sell either without our moving.
I rolled my eyes and ended up looking skyward. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked.” I’d figured it out, but decided to make the old boy explain it to me. You have to train humans to express themselves clearly.
“Sandy, a garage sale refers to material that was in the garage, but that you want to dispose…” The Geezer frowned. My smug expression gave me away. “Smart ass!” he said.
I watched the preparations as he spent most of his waking hours opening boxes, sorting, cleaning, polishing, and pricing the “junk.” He bought cleaning chemicals, rags, and brushes. He also bought a couple large folding tables to display the hoard to his would be customers. The stickers he used to put the prices on had to be purchased. When Mrs. G asked how anyone would know we were having the sale, he decided to make signs and put an ad in the local fish wrapper. Mrs. G suggested it would be “nice” to have coffee and tea for people stopping to shop. Mrs. Gator’s wish is the Geezer’s command so he purchased some flavored coffee and tea, creamer, sugar, and Styrofoam cups. After looking at the amounts scribbled on the tags, I shook my head. The Geezer just isn’t an economic genius.
Game day! The people milled around the tables, picked up items, examined them critically, and put them back down. A few bought “stuff,” but generally offered less than what the sticker requested. When the crowd disappeared, Mrs. G packed the left-over material in the pickup and made the trek to Goodwill! That was 2/3rds of what the Geezer started with.
The next day, after he returned from the chiropractor, I asked, “Well, did you make any money?”
He smiled, then winced. His back was very tender. “Yep, I took in $187.47,” he said proudly.
“But how much did it cost you?”
“Let’s see.” The boiler in his cranium began to build up steam. “The tables were $22 each, that’s 44.” He hesitated allowing the engine’s pressure to raise. “Cleaning supplies were $14, coffee and such were…$17, stickers were $3, material for signs $6,” his enthusiasm was waning- reality can do that to you, “two days ad in the paper was $55.” Yes Columbus, the world is round.
“That’s $139. So you made 187.47, less 139, less the cost of the 60 mile trip Mrs. Gator made to Goodwill, say $10. I’m not Einstein, but doesn’t that mean you actually made $38.47?”
The Geezer didn’t look like he retained any thoughts comparing him to Einstein. He did look sheepish. He said, “I’ll rethink my next garage sale before I have one. Or not.”
I wanted to mention the $60 doctor visit, but have learned to keep my muzzle closed when it’s appropriate. Besides, the Geezer’s bad back couldn’t be directly blamed on the garage sale.
As customers milled around the tables, the Geezer was seated in a camping chair and I was lying next to him. He’d tied my leash to the chair’s back, keeping me from creating mischief. So he thought. Up pulls this Cadillac. Directly behind the Geezer’s chair, out steps this male, rich, handsome, endowed, great Dane. Come on, I’ve got hormones! I took off to greet this Adonis. Unfortunately, I forgot about the leash.
Wham!!! When I came to the leash’s end, it slamed the Geezer and chair over backward. He looked like an out-take from one of the “Beethoven” movies. I stopped abruptly when I felt the impact tremor. The Geezer ain’t a light weight. His legs extended upward toward the sun, making a huge letter “V” for the 20 folks who couldn’t help but chuckle. They quickly helped him up and, not being a dumb dog, I quickly was a contrite canine. Or made that appearance.
Still, it was difficult to keep from laughing for a thought had flitted across my mind. It was a good thing the Geezer isn’t Scottish. Imagine the scene if he wore a kilt!