"O Rita, Where Art Thou?"

This past week, I witnessed something I hope to never see again: the total devastation of my local grocery store. On Monday morning, hurricane Rita was barreling towards my town and the end of the world was nigh. On Wednesday morning, I ran out of deodorant, and the end of my lovely bride’s world was nigh. So off to the grocery store I went.

NOTE: I dislike going to the grocery store because it always seems to take so long.

Upon arrival, the end of my world was nigh. There were no fewer than 20 customers in every checkout at the grocery store and people pushed and jostled down aisles that looked as though they had been hit by a tropical storm. I made my way through the crowds, procured my deodorant, and then made a monumental error in judgment: I decided to see how much water was left on the shelf of the water aisle. As I rounded the corner of the aisle, I observed that the shelf was empty, the clerk was wheeling one pallet of water down the aisle, and a horde of customers was hurdling towards him at an alarming rate. Someone was sure to get horribly maimed. Like any sensible person, he let go of the cart and ran for his life. The herd thundered towards the water and I was swept along with them. Armed only with my aerosol can of deodorant and a cell phone, I lowered my shoulder like an angry bull, barreled through several senior citizens, and emerged amidst many angry stares with two cases of coveted H2O and only minor bruising of my ribs. For the next 30 minutes, while I waited in line to pay, I defended my Evian with grim determination and steely resolve.

As I mounted my defense, I observed the shopping carts of my fellow defenders in the fray. Apparently, college students planned only to survive for the weekend, and chose to purchase beer (which oddly enough went on sale that day) and frozen pizzas. Everyone else planned to survive for the next year, and loaded their shopping carts accordingly. I began to wonder the following: if Rita doesn’t hit, what are they going to do with all this food and how much of it will go bad before they can consume it? With crazed looks, customers loaded crates of produce, dairy farms of milk, and slaughter houses of meat, not to mention loads of canned goods. Even sugar was completely sold out…what in the world are you going to do with sugar during hurricane? Bake?

Anyway, by Saturday morning, the area of town hardest hit by the hurricane was the Rock Prairie Kroger. I had been price gouged for my water and missed out on some much needed rain because Rita had avoided us altogether. I suppose I’m glad for this…at least the only rebuilding that has to be done is the water aisle, which suffered total destruction during Armageddon 2005. I hope the poor clerk is alive, and doesn’t suffer any lingering effects. I doubt “trauma resulting from angry mob” is covered under the Kroger employee health insurance policy.

Author’s note: This is not intended in anyway to make light of the tragedy of hurricanes Katrina or Rita, which have caused great devastation. My thoughts and prayers go out to those who lost lives and loved ones.

Garage Sale Phenomenon: Part 4 (The Bitter End)

This will likely be the final installment of my musings regarding garage sales. It’s been a fun topic but there is only so much that can be said about the matter.

As I endured that fateful day, one fact that became most troubling to me and could not escape notice was this: the ladies in the group actually bought each others garage sale stuff. Here are items, no longer deemed acceptable by one lady, put out for auction, and another lady somehow feels she has stumbled on the find of the century. Many such backroom deals were made for each others stuff, objects I am sure we will sell in the next multifamily garage sale. Because, inevitably, several weeks down the road, the ladies will realize that this junk was sold by their friends for a reason: because it is junk. And then their husbands will lumber up the attic stairs sometime late August, when the attic has reached 150°, and load that junk into the pile of stuff that has already begun for the next garage sale. That pile was started the day after this sale was over because the ladies upon re-entry of their home’s, discovered numerous items they forgot to put in the garage sale. Their husbands beg to be allowed to just drive them over to a charitable drop but, alas, the desire for a few pennies is too strong, and the items must be saved for a future sale. To not do so would be a violation of the garage sale code, which states that all items must first attempt to be sold before any thought of donation is entertained. So up the attic ladder we go…

As an aside…the problem with buying other ladies things is this: what happens, when a few months down the road, you tire of that item of your friend’s which you bought. You have virtually precluded yourself from doing another sale with that friend because you don’t want her to see you selling the item you bought from her lest you hurt her feelings. She sold that item to you, probably at a discount off the garage sale price, because she felt you would give it a good home and now you are going to sell it…it’s a slap in the face. So now, we have to undertake the next multifamily sale with a whole new set of families, so that we don’t offend any of our closest friends, with whom we had the first sale. Within a matter of years, we’ll have had sales with the whole city…there is no end to the misery.

Fortunately for all, the sale comes to an end around 12:00 PM, and then begins the process which should have been done in the first place: the haul to Goodwill. Each man backs his vehicle up to the driveway, no doubt muttering under his breath, and begins to load all the junk that wasn’t sold. In our case, three SUV/truck’s full. I seriously thought we had more there than we started with. Of course, upon our arrival to Goodwill we find that even they won’t take all the stuff we have…apparently they don’t need some of our junk, even for free. We unload what we can and head home stopping on the way at a dumpster at the nearest gas station to illegally throw the rest of the stuff away. The grueling and frustrating day has come to an end, at least until next year…let the accumulation of new stuff begin. The ladies divide up the money, pay for the breakfast tacos and newspaper ads out of the profits, and the lady who made the most basks in the awe of her friends…she’ll hold that recognition for the next year. Life can return to normal…except that I have to mow my lawn in the heat of the afternoon because the morning was taken up with…the Multi-Family Garage Sale. Until then…happy shopping.

Aunt Jemima vs. Practicality

I am conservative and practical, which is why what I am about share was highly out of character for me, something that will never happen again. Hopefully.

Last week, I started the Master Cleanse. Allow me latitude to explain. Developed allegedly by doctors, it is an all natural process whereby one can rid their body of toxins and wastes that have accumulated over their life. This serves to restore and invigorate a human being. I have been on a running kick (I’m up to about 25 miles a week) in an attempt to lose weight (I have what doctors call a little bit of a weight problem – Tommy Boy) and everything I read about this cleanse assured me it was a great way to jump start my workout regimen. The MC consists of 10 days of fasting while drinking 64 oz. per day of a ruthlessly devilish concoction comprised of organic Type B maple syrup (maple syrup is classified in types?…I thought it was Aunt Jemima’s and everyone else), fresh squeezed lemon juice, hot cayenne pepper, and water. In the evening, before bed, you drink one cup of an herbal laxative tea (and keep your fingers crossed you don’t soil the bedclothes in the middle of the night), and in the morning you drink at least 36 oz. of sea salt water. The total cost of the syrup, lemons, tea, and sea salt was about $40 per person. My friend “J” and I embarked on this adventure together and set out with well intentioned determination on Wednesday morning.

By Thursday evening it was over. “J” was pounding chocolate milk and cookies and I was enjoying the most delicious piece of frozen pizza ever. It was one of the most miserable experiences of my life. I was hungry all the time, developed a gag reflex for the evil concoction, threw up sea salt water one morning because I mixed it too strong (big difference between tsp. and tbsp.) and spent the better part of my morning using the facilities, the roguish results of the herbal laxative tea. All this to eliminate some toxins that I didn’t know were there before MC and weren’t causing me any problems anyway. Not to mention, I had $40 less to spend on my wife’s birthday which is coming up. Just kidding, dear…it came out of our vacation money.

This led me to muse how easily American’s pursue the latest trends and “hippest” ideas. Even the most practical of us succumbs at some point. We have cleanses and Kabala and reality television, all riding the latest wave of human interest. If it’s not one hot item, it’s another that catches us off-guard, occupying our time, interest, and invariably, our finances. If only we were so quick to get out and vote, serve those around us, etc. I am sure, though, that trends have occurred since the beginning of time and will continue to the end; there is really nothing we can do about it. There will always be something new and exciting that everyone has to have or do.

Like my organic Type B maple syrup…which, by the way, I’ll sell to you at the rock bottom price of $39.95. I’ll even ship it to you for free. Until next time…

Garage Sale Phenomenon: Part 3

It’s the big day and the garage sale is underway. The ladies are salivating at the sheer magnitude of dollars they expect to rack up. The first customers are pawing through the junk, ‘er’ merchandise and, at last, a purchase is attempted. It is at this time where we examine the foundation, the very focal point of the garage sale: the art of the negotiation. You see, all the pricing that was done last night simply provided the beginning bargaining point. Consider this: the customer finds an item they can’t live without, priced last night by the ladies at $4.50. She picks the item up and approaches the check out table at the end of the driveway with great fear and trepidation for there, eyeing her every move, is perhaps the most rigorous, yea even the fiercest bargainer of all time: a lady we shall call K.

The negotiation begins. The lady offers $3.75, K counters with $4.50, the lady counters with $4.25 and K firmly avows that she cannot accept less than $4.50 as this is a very nice item. Now the two have come to the crossroads and each finds herself in a quandary: if K cedes to the $4.25 offer, she has been defeated and her aura is shattered; if the lady renders $4.50, she has been laid bare as a weak and defenseless negotiator, a reputation she will not soon leave behind. Alas, she puts the item back and walks away. Now, they both can claim victory, each believing they have dealt a mortal blow to the other.

Sadly, who has really won? Exxon, Shell, Diamond Shamrock, etc. Because, that difference of a quarter that could not be agreed upon, now will cost me $3.00 per gallon in gas for my vehicle. For, following the garage sale, I will cart that item and the many other’s whose quarter difference could not be agreed upon, to the Salvation Army drop-off. If you are keeping count, there still has been no money made at what was supposed to be a VERY profitable Saturday morning.