Starting in December the closing date for our short sale became a rapidly moving target.
First came the big news that everything was approved and we’d be closing right after Christmas. That was discouraging, as we still needed time to finish, and we hated to be on the streets, so to speak, right during the holidays. We’d been hoping for a closing nearer to March first.
Then we heard that we’d have to close December twenty-fourth. That was a truly dismal prospect. But before we had a chance to process leaving on Christmas Eve, we heard that the whole deal was in jeopardy.
Thus ensued weeks of steady, intensely focused, stressful rounds of meetings, strategies, phone calls, emails and paperwork, punctuated by long periods of silence. Questions and anxiety hung in the air. Would it work? Could we really pull it off after all this time? Would it really fall apart after three years in process?
Meanwhile we had to have faith that yes, it would all work out, so it meant we were on a dead sprint for the finish line. Not only were we distracted by all the increased paperwork and time needed for the closing, but we were tired to the bone, sick of selling and moving, and we still had a lot of activity between us and the finish line.
We moved into the next and final round of packing, jogging through our days, sorting out what we had left, updating our packing box spreadsheets, doing a last round of inventory, selling our last antique furniture, and wrapping up our remaining sales on Craigslist.
We took things off Craigslist and listed them on FreeCycle. My room was empty, even down to moving my desk and laptop into the front room. I didn’t have much privacy, but I was sure in the heart of the activity during the days.
It became clear, despite my protestations, that it would be wise to have a last yard sale. Our policy on this yard sale was a little different. If we could get anything for anything, we’d take it. If not, we’d give it away.
That being said, perhaps the funniest part of the whole cold and miserable and tiring day was my resolve on the pricing strategy. Remember, I was fresh from my tangle with Attila the Hun. After weeks of feeling battered by reducing our prices and taking such low offers, I wasn’t feeling like taking it any more.
In South Florida we have Cubans, Brazilians, Argentineans, Guatemalans, Haitians, American blacks, a huge population of senior citizens, more Jews than anywhere outside Israel, evangelical Christians, Catholics, Jamaicans, Hondurans, New Yorkers, Canadians (from Quebec), and southern rednecks, all mixed together in a distinctive cultural stew.
For the islanders and South Americans, bargaining is a way of life, and few groups have it down better than the Haitians. With their low-ball offers and dismissive, curt and often rude attitudes, these professional garage-salers are the bane of yard sale hosts. “I give you dollah”, they’ll say, for a ten-dollar item. “I give you nickel”, they’ll say, for a five dollar item.
I am not a negotiator. I research carefully, set a price, so NO, I don’t want to go much lower. I know my price. Brave words, but that doesn’t work in our area. However, that didn’t stop me from trying on this particular day.
When I was asked to go low on the first item, I said, “Well, we need that money and it’s a fair price”. My Haitian customer answered, “That isn’t my fault”.
“Right”, I responded with a big smile, “it’s not my fault either”. “That’ll be eight dollars.” “I give you two dollah” was the response.
Without missing a beat, I said, “No but I’ll take ten”. The silence and the look I got were priceless. “But you said eight dollah!” “Yes,” I calmly replied, “but I’ll take ten”.
Immature? Probably. Juvenile? Almost certainly. But guess what? Over the course of the day it worked to get me more than they were originally offering, which, with the Haitians, is unheard of in our area.
With the seniors and New Yorkers and handymen types I had a slightly different approach.
“How much is this?” I’d be asked.
“The price is ten” I’d respond.
“I’ll give you eight.”
“Nope, ten.”
“Come on, eight.”
“Ok,” I’d reply, “ I’ll take eight, but add two as a donation and make it an even ten.”
It worked! I got ten, with a laugh included.
Flush with those successes, I continued asking for the difference between the offer and the price to be considered a donation. It didn’t always work, but it was certainly worth it for the fun I was having.
By the end I was challenging everyone who offered lower than we were asking. “Come on,” I’d say, “we need the money for our trip!” Most just laughed, but again, it worked often enough for me to have fun and to increase our take for the day.
I felt like the mouse that roared.
Over the course of an hour or so toward the end of the day, I’d been chatting with a guy who was more in the “protect-your-own-at-any-cost” category. He’d been watching my antics with the yard sale customers. He called me aside and told me confidentially, “Know what my pricing strategy is? I just tell ‘em, ‘I got a gun I can bring out. Then we can talk price’.”
During the course of the day we had a steady parade of local kids hanging out with us, looking things over, offering to buy things, and chatting with us. Nick and Ally were our most frequent and supportive visitors. Ally would earnestly ask Chelsea, “What’s the most expensive item you have? I’ll buy it! I have money!”
They may finally have actually bought something, but they came out well ahead by the end of the day when we started giving things away. They were thrilled and we were delighted to have the things moved on to new homes.
Ally and Nick are twins; John is their older brother. Ally at one point late in the day entertained us with the story of her older brother John, before the twins were born, asking his mom for a brother or a sister. When the twins arrived some time later, so the story goes, John’s mom said, “See, I gave you both a brother and a sister!” Ally, the tomboy, added offhandedly, “I’m the boy, he’s the girl”. Her twin Nick, clearly used to that line, just shrugged and grinned.
Undoubtedly the most serendipitous event of the day was meeting our neighbors from up the street, Jose and Carmen Gallegos. They take walks around the neighborhood almost daily, and had thought for some time that our house was abandoned, like so many others did, since there was so little sign of activity. They were surprised to see a yard sale, and were naturally curious about who we were and who would be moving in.
A few things struck me at once when we began talking. They are very calm, quiet, very sweet, and very personable. It didn’t take long to discover that they are well traveled and culturally experienced, well informed on a wide variety of topics, and very good listeners. They still own some land in the Lagos de Morenos area of Mexico and are long-time dual citizens of Mexico and the United States.
Upon meeting them, all I wanted to do was stand and talk to them, which I did for well over two hours, in between customers and inquiries. However, it came time to clean up for the day. I was beyond exhausted by that time, so we parted on a promise that we’d have dinner with them the following night.
The net result on our very-last-ever yard sale was very satisfying, not so much for the money we took in but equally as much for how many items we moved on. We’d even sold things we didn’t think we could sell, like our very old and well-worn garden benches. What a sigh of relief we exhaled that night, looking around at how much had gone.