Garage Sale

Summary: "Hi, I'm Spot, and if you have any questions about the merchandise feel free to ask me."

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"Heya, Spotty!" greeted Jack, a little oddly. You would've said it oddly as well, if you had witnessed the scene in front of Spot's little cottage house on that particular Saturday morning. There was junk all over towels atop of the grass. Which could only mean one thing.

Garage sale.

"What's the deal with your crap?" asked Jack, looking at the various items strewn all over the lawn. It still didn't dawn on him what type of event was occurring even when he saw the price tags on everything.

"I'se having a garage sale!" said Spot proudly. Jack snorted back laughter, and looked up to face an offended Spot.

"What's wrong with trying to get some extra cash?" he said protectively of his ideas.

"I respect the fact that you want to make some more dough, but it is in the matter in which you are attempting to get said money that cracks me up."

"Hundreds of people across America have garage sales every week!" Spot protested. Jack just gave him a Look.

"Oh please, Spot. Do you remember last time you had a garage sale? About a year ago?" asked Jack.

"Uh…no…what are you talking about?" defended the Brooklyn native, clearly lying.

"Oh, come on…it was about noon, and you decided to have a garage sale on the same day as TRASH DAY?" Jack mocked, laughing at the memory.

"I didn't realize ahead of time that it was trash day on the same day that I had scheduled my sale! Because unlike you, Kelly, I don't exactly check my community calendars each time I want to have a garage sale! God forbid I actually schedule it on…" and here he gave a dramatic gasp as his hand flew to his mouth in bewilderment, whispering the next words, "…trash day!"

Jack just rolled his eyes at his overdramatic performance.

"Well, then you clearly forgot the last part of the story," he said simply.

"Ooh, stories! I love a good story," chimed a new voice, and both looked behind them to find Race staring at them, awaiting an explanation.

"Yeah, well you ain't gonna hear no story, because Jack ain't gonna TELL it to ya…right Jacky-boy?"

"Oh, yeah…of course, I wouldn't do that to you, Spot." But as soon as Spot turned around for a second to straighten out his stuffed panda for a future customer's viewing pleasure, Jack distinctly whispered in Race's ear,

"I'll tell ya later."

"Hey! I heard that!" said Spot, annoyed that Jack had even brought last year's failure up in the first place.

"Yeah, well that's great," Jack said, not really caring. He then proceeded to wink at Racetrack and open his mouth to tell the story.

"Well, if you're gonna tell it, you better get the details right!" said Spot, compromising.

"Does that mean to edit out the part about the banana peel?" Jack asked mischievously.

"No! The banana peel stays!" argued Race.

"Jack, I would prefer if you didn't tell him the banana—"

"Well, anyway, Spot had his garage sale on the same day as trash day, which means that all of his shit was on the lawn at the same time. His junk and his garbage—just inches away from each other. Is this painting a clear enough visual for you?" asked Jack. Race nodded eagerly, his love for gossip almost overpowering his love for poker.

Almost.

"I'm not listening!" insisted Spot, covering his ears and walking a few feet away to escape his mortification.

"Well, this rich, snooty man walks by and stops to look at the useless items that is Spot's closet. Spot looks shocked, because, as you would guess, he wasn't prepared for such a high-and-mighty person investigating his little sale." Racetrack snorted with laughter at the picture in his mind, while Spot started organizing his magnets by color and shape so he wouldn't have to be embarrassed by overhearing.

"Spotty here didn't even bother to take the trash can off of the sidewalk so people wouldn't get confused because, as we all know, the garbage man is always late in picking everything up. And so the dude walks up to him, looks over the tin rubbish holder, and goes, 'How much for the trash can?' You should've seen Spot's face; it turned bright red!"

"How was I to know that he wanted to buy the only thing that wasn't for sale? And why would he have wanted a trash can anyway?" Both Jack and Race ignored Spot as they continued on with the retelling of the story in anticipation.

"So the man picks up the can, expecting it to be empty, and is totally surprised when all of Spot's leftovers from the past week come pouring out on him! He starts in on Spot, yelling at him about not warning him and telling him to notify a person and such, when he loses his balance and slips on a stray banana peel! It was classic."

"Nice one, Spot!" crowed Race.

"Okay, okay, you guys have had your fun. Now would you please let me get back to my business? My customers are waiting!"

"What customers?" asked Jack truthfully, seeing no one around.

"The ones that would be shopping now if you and Costello here hadn't scared them off!" Spot insisted. But Race and Jack just rolled their eyes.

"Oh, Spot, Spot, Spot. Nobody wants your stuff!" Jack said, informing Spot of the obvious.

"Not even my cane?" Spot asked pathetically, desperately hoping to get rid of the heirloom for a pretty penny. Although it had served him well in high school, a college boy would look a little stupid parading around with that thing in-between classes.

"Nope. And you actually thought that you could make money like this!" Racetrack supplied to hinder Spot's ego.

"Oh, and how do you propose I make money?" asked Spot, getting more annoyed by the second.

"Well, you know, me and my little sister used to have a lemonade stand," suggested Race. Spot laughed at his idea. But Jack had a different opinion.

"No way, what a coincidence! I had iced tea stands! Those things rock, man!"

"True, but lemonade is better."

"Iced tea."

"Lemonade."

"Iced tea."

"LEMONADE!"

"ICED TEA!"

"Okay, okay, boys, boys…SHUT UP!" Spot yelled, removing his hands from his ears as he stopped the childlike banter.

"Spot, please tell him that lemonade is better!" persisted Racetrack, pointing at Jack.

"I can't do that, you're both morons! I'm sticking to my garage sale."

"Well, then you might wanna lose the baseball cap," advised Jack.

"What's wrong with my hat?" Spot protested, not understanding why anyone else wouldn't love his favorite hat as much as he did.

"Spot, it's black and has a skull on it! It makes you look standoffish!" explained Race. But the Brooklynite just glared at him.

"It's my old band cap! I love this thing!"

"But you'll be scaring off little girls! Then to whom will you target your Beanie Baby collection at? Huh? Certainly not rich, snooty businessmen," Jack laughed, elbowing Race jovially.

"Fine," Spot said, placing his cap on the lawn for now.

"And what are you going to say? I've heard many a garage salesmen ruined by lack of preparation!" nagged Jack.

"What do you think me, stupid? Of course I know what I'm going to say! I've had experience!" Spot uttered defensively. He specifically ignored Jack's chuckle as he refrained from divulging a reminiscent comeback.

"Okay, tell me what you're going to say, then," prompted Race. Spot took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Uh, hi. What's up? Can I help you? Do you need anything in particular?"

"No, no, no!" Race exclaimed. "That was pitiful!"

"What the heck!" Spot yelled. "Now you're critiquing me on my speech? I already graduated English class, thank you, Mr. Higgins!"

"Well, you asked too many questions. Just keep it simple—'Hi, I'm Spot, and if you have any questions about the merchandise feel free to ask me'," was Race's suggestion. "Now you try."

"Hi, I'm Spot, and if you have any questions about the merchandise feel free to ask me."

"Okay, much better," Race encouraged. The threesome was interrupted, however, by the sound of a car pulling up.

"My first customers!" Spot exclaimed gleefully. They all watched in anticipation as a young woman and who was presumably her daughter stepped out of the vehicle.

"This is the garage sale, right? I saw the sign down the street…" mumbled the woman, waiting for a confirmation.

"Yes, it is," Spot spoke up. "I mean—Hi, I'm Spot, and if you have any questions about the merchandise feel free to ask me."

"Thanks, Spot!" said the young girl, eager at meeting a new person as all kids are.

The three boys were silent as they watched the twosome browse. The silence was finally interrupted by a squeal from the little girl.

"Mommy! Look at that hat!" she said excitedly, pointing towards Spot's baseball cap.

"Oh, my, Rebecca, that's quite an interesting choice you've made there!" was the mother's response to her daughter's statement.

"Uh, that's not for sale," Spot responded to the chatter.

"Then why is it in the 'sale' pile?" asked the woman.

"Um…well, that was an accident," said Spot, picking up the hat and pulling it over his head.

"Oh, I see," the woman sniffed briskly. Five minutes later, they were gone, leaving empty-handed.

"Better luck next time, Spot," reassured Racetrack, slapping his friend on the back. But when minutes went by and no one came, the three resorted to sitting on the porch instead of standing in their greeting stance. If Spot thought that business was slow last year, is was twice as bad this year.

"I don't understand why no one is coming. People love garage sales! They bring all of their loose change and extra bills and come to buy some useless crap that they will stuff in their basements and never use again! It's a classic American tradition!" Spot complained.

"Well, maybe people want to get rid of their own junk before they buy someone else's junk," Jack suggested. But all that statement earned him was a warning glare.

Almost an hour later, they all jumped up in anticipation as they finally saw a car approach the curb, stopping right in front of his house. A middle-aged woman exited.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi," the boys said in unison.

"How's the sale going?" she asked politely as she meandered around the yard, slowly browsing.

"Oh, well…not great. Business is slow for garage sales these days," Spot admitted.

"Really? Because that sale down the road is doing great!"

"What sale? Who's giving it?" Spot inquired suspiciously.

"Oh, some blonde boy. Real odd name…wink…pink…clink…no—Blink! That was it!"

"Wait, Blink is having a sale today? But he's just down the block before mine! No wonder no one's coming, they're spending all of their money there!" Spot said indignantly.

"Sorry about that," the woman condoled. "Maybe if you had had an lemonade stand or something…"

But Spot didn't hear her. He had stalked back into the house, slamming the door behind him. There was an awkward silence for a moment, until Race decided to speak up.

"Hi, I'm Racetrack, and if you have any questions about the merchandise feel free to ask me."

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Thanks for reading!

I was having a severe case of writer's block for awhile there, and I wanted to write something ridiculously random to compensate for my cure :-)

A bunch of people in my neighborhood were having garage sales this past weekend, and it got me thinking. This is somewhat based upon a true story, but not by much lol.

This is a lighthearted story and I'm rather new to those, so I'd appreciate it greatly if you'd review!