When it's just gotta go

People do it for different reasons.

They need space.

They need money.

They like the bartering and interaction.

Maybe they need a little of all three.

I'm talking about the right of the American homeowner: Gather all your unwanted stuff, plop it in the garage or yard, put an advertisement in the paper (please - and thanks in advance), slap a few signs throughout the neighborhood and wait for the money to come rolling in.

Yep, the garage/yard sale is the chance to make some dough while making some space for, uh, more stuff.

I've never been a big fan of hosting sales, but I have been known to peruse the offerings that are abundant on Fridays and Saturdays in North Idaho.

You can usually tell by looking at the price on a few items whether the owner really wants to sell some things. Most people are expecting "garage sale prices" when they venture out in search of bargains.

Often the sellers will put a larger price on an item, assuming that an interested buyer will offer less, and then they can come to an arrangement. But the diehard buyers become disgruntled quickly when a bevy of attractive items can't be bought for less than half of the original retail price.

This is a yard sale, folks. You want some real dinero for your item? Put it on eBay!

And that is always the part I hated when running a yard sale. No matter what price you had on something, someone would want it for less. Haggling was never my forte, especially when I thought an item had some real value, and the prospective buyer was trying to get a steal of a deal.

Gathering items for the big sale was an endless, labor-intensive affair. What I thought was destined for the sale pile and what my wife thought should go were often two separate things.

Finally the day would arrive, you'd wake up extra early, move all your stuff to the driveway, tell the people waiting for you to open to please be patient and that we'd be open soon.

Soon was never soon enough for some. I had procured some yellow "crime scene" tape (I'll never tell where I got it, but I knew when it was offered that it'd come in handy someday) that I used to rope off the driveway, thinking that something that was authentic would stop people in their tracks.

Boy, I couldn't have been more wrong.

On more than a few occasions, people would saunter up to the tape, flip it over their heads and just stroll in to look at your items as casual as if they just walked out their own back door. Do these people actually invade real crime scenes?

"Um, sorry sir (ma'am), we're not open yet. Please give us a moment."

I bet you can tell how well that went over. A few times people didn't even acknowledge your statement, rather they'd just continue to rifle through your stuff.

"Ma'am, that is where the dead body is - I'd quit digging if I were you."

C'mon - you didn't really think I said that did you? Not that I wasn't tempted a few times. And no, I never had reason to stow a dead body.

And really, our little sales pale in comparison to the professional pickers' paradise: The world's Longest Yard Sale, held each year and headquartered in Jamestown, Tenn.

Dubbed the 127 Sale, it follows Highway 127 from Addison, Mich., all the way south to Gadsden, Ala., in early August each year.

That's 690 miles of seemingly endless bargains. Bring a U-Haul, or three.

And make sure you've had enough sales at your house to clear some room for the new boatload of treasures.

Hmmm, it's an endless, vicious cycle.

Jerry Hitchcock, who has netted some amazing finds stumbling through someone's yard sale, is a copy editor for The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via email at jhitchcock@cdapress.com.