Each year, on the 3rd Saturday in July, the town of Charlestown holds a
community yard sale. Households that might have held yard or garage sales
at some point during the summer get together and all hold their sales on the
same day. The event is well publicized and brings attracts large numbers of
yard sale enthusiasts. Each person holding a sale pays a small fee to cover
the administrative costs of promoting the event and any money left over goes
to the “P.R.I.D.E. In Charlestown” scholarship that is presented yearly to a
Senior at Fall Mountain High School. This years sale, held on July 17th,
was the town’s 6th such event.
Some impressions from the sale:
Every individual yard sale has 3 things in common - a table holding a large
pile of jigsaw puzzles, at least 3 large boxes of paperback romance novels
and a visitor standing on one leg, looking anxiously for rest room
facilities.
One man walks up to a table that is covered with men’s clothing. “How much
are the items on this table?” he asks a nearby boy.
“You’ll have to ask her,” the boy says, pointing to a woman who is just
returning to the table with a glass of ice-water. “It’s her table.”
“Her” is Kay Wallace of Charlestown, who looks a little nonplused at the
idea of having to arbitrarily assign prices to a table full of used
clothing. The man picks up a pair of summer shorts. “How much are you
asking for these?” he asks. “There doesn’t seem to be a price tag.”
“Well,” Wallace says, thinking for a second, “it’s all negotiable. I’ll
charge just about anything... What do you think? Maybe...50 cents?” The
man nods. That price seems more than fair. He puts the shorts down and
reaches in his pocket for some change.
There is an unwritten, but fairly stringent set of rules regarding conduct
at a yard sale. One of the main rules it that any item that is not actually
in somebody’s physical possession is up for grabs. As the man fishes in his
pocket for a couple of quarters, the shorts are snatched up by a nearby
woman, who adds them to the pile of clothing on her arm. The man is taken
off-guard by this move and it takes him a moment to say anything. The woman
shrewdly uses his moment of silence to verify the price with Wallace - “You
said 50 cents?...” Wallace nods. This is a blow to the man because, by
formally voicing her interest, the woman has, by the unwritten conventions
of yard-saling, nullified his prior claim to the item.
The shorts are not hers yet though. There are still formalities to be
observed. There is a ritual conversation that must be held:
“Oh,” she says, turning to the man, “did you want these?” - This lets the
man, Wallace and anybody else who might be witnessing this exchange know
that she has not thoughtlessly stolen anything that he really wants. She
has asked his permission to take them for the record.
“No, that’s ok. Go ahead,” says the man grudgingly. - This purpose of this
declaration is to let the woman, Wallace and any witnesses to know that he
is a generous man, a good man, a man who should be allowed to have his
shorts.
“Really?” asks the woman in a nonchalant tone of voice. “Are you sure?” -
This tells everyone that no, he isn’t the nice one, SHE is and should be
allowed to have the shorts.
“No, no, no...really,” says the man, trying to be even more nonchalant. “If
you want them, please...”
“Well,” says the woman with a victorious smile, “if you’re certain. Thank
you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” says the man with a grimace. “Have a good day.” -
Translation: “Rats!”
“This is the first time today that anyone has fought over anything,” says
Wallace, collecting the money. She seems to have enjoyed the exchange
immensely.
Nearby is another yard sale that is an outpost of optimism. Even though the
weather is very, very hot - the temperature and humidity are both well into
the 90’s - Mark White of Charlestown is selling nothing but warm, winter
clothing. His clothing racks are full of parkas, snowmobile suits and
winter snow-gear.
“I know, I know...” he says. “I must be nuts to sell
stuff like this on a day like this.” He smiles sheepishly. “It was my
wife’s idea,” he explains. His wife seems to have been onto something
though - he has only been open for business for an hour or so and has
already sold more than 20 items of clothing.
Bob Greenough is working the table at the Charlestown Senior Center’s sale.
He is selling antique tools. “All this stuff came from one old house up in
Claremont,” he says. “You wouldn’t BELIEVE some of the things I’ve sold
today!” The table in front of him is covered with antique hand saws,
planes, ax heads, mauls, wrenches and other intriguing items. “I just sold
a great, big rocking chair,” he says, “and four or five wooden barrels. There
were a LOT of saws - Man! There must have been 10 or 15 hand saws here - all
types - big, small... you name it!” Greenough says that most of his
customers this morning have been collectors. He is happy that business is
so brisk - all the money raised at the sale will go toward building the new
Senior Center North of town.
In spite of the heat, Greenough is having a ball. He is joking with the
customers and flirting with girls that come through. “It’s great to meet
you,” he tells one woman as he shakes her hand for just a little longer than
decorum calls for. “Is he treating you all right?” he asks, jerking his
head toward her boyfriend.
“Yes, he’s doing all right,” she replies with a grin. “Today, anyway.”
“OK,” Greenough says with a twinkle in his eye. “Just let me know if he
doesn’t. I’d be happy to give you a ride home. Would you like my number?”
“Oh, that’s ok,” says the woman, laughing. “I’ve got your number, Bob!”
