I Sold a Rug Today

My neighbors organized a block-long garage sale this weekend. I felt ambivalent about it at first, not being a garage sale kind of guy, but then decided to participate after lying in bed early Saturday morning and coming up with a short list of items. I didn’t think I had enough stuff, but what really convinced me was my back. I had tweaked it in judo the night before and had to apply a dollop of lidocaine and pop a handful of ibuprofen like Skittles (see My Friend, Lidocaine). That and a whiskey-spiked cappuccino put me in the mood for both garages and sales.

Here’s the thing about garage sales that reinforced my ambivalence–they’re primarily social events. Sure, transactions occur, but when you consider the merchandise for sale and the amount of cash exchanged, what they really do is provide an opportunity for people to meet and talk. Some people do a lot of talking, which is why I was wary.

But I’m conflicted. I’m at that point in life when I want someone to talk to but don’t like talking. I want to be alone but don’t want to be cut off. I want to socialize without being social. Can you feel my pain? Can you also see a post coming down the pike about retirement? If not that, then about the quirkiness of a certain personality type? Guilty as charged.

In addition to some office chairs I had around the house, I put a rug out in the driveway. It was one of three rugs I own from the Anatolia region of Turkey. All three are handwoven and very colorful, with figures and patterns in deep red, blue, orange, and yellow.

My favorite is a pistachio-colored rug with fringes about 8×5 feet in size. It’s a beauty with all kinds of animals like camels, goats, and deer, and patterns in black, brown, pink, and white. It sits in my living room. If you can be proud of any household article, I’m proud of this one. Well, this and a cobalt-colored cocktail shaker presented to me by a student years ago. A perfect night is making a martini and sitting back to admire the rug. If you can get someone else to sit with you, even better–provided they don’t talk too much.

The rug I ended up selling did not have any of that, although it did have frayed fringes. It’s not good when your fringes are frayed. To add sea salt to injury, a dog I used to own in a marriage I used to be in, chewed a hole in it. The hole had been filled in with matching wool yarn and didn’t look half bad. It didn’t look half good, either. I sold it for twenty bucks. It belongs in a basement somewhere. I say this after having cleaned all three rugs professionally a year ago. The new owner will never get the stains out. Still, it’s a deal, a win-win.

There’s another thing about garage sales, at least this one. It got me out of the house and talking to the neighbors, all of whom are very friendly. I spent most of my time listening, but I think that’s important. So, I walked around, checking out one driveway after another, juggling a baseball, which is a habit I have gotten into from writing at my standing desk for hours. It helps me with rhythm. So far, I haven’t dropped the ball or broken anything.

I had a chance to talk to buyers, too. I didn’t realize how much the seller actually sells. I thought it was a matter of haggling over the price until both were uncomfortable and then shooting the breeze about the Giants or the weather. But it’s more than that. For example, I helped a lady pick a particular office chair that supported her back and fit her kitchen table. I helped her solve her problem rather than simply sell her a chair. Imagine that. I’ll have to call my favorite marketer from business school and let him know he’s not so full of it.

So, in small but meaningful ways, this weekend was about community, capitalism, and the inner conflict I experience over whether I should throw the ball to someone else once in a while. I suppose I could do that and invite them in for drinks. Let me think about it, but I’m not selling any more rugs.

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